Under the Surface
by LLunaStorta
Summary: Where it all began
1. Chapter 1

When he opened his eyes at the freezing cold enveloping his whole body, he didn't know why he was there or what had happened. He was surrounded by the water. There was water below and there was water above. His eyes open wide with fear, he struggled to reach the surface, his lungs yearning for air. His movements were slow, too slow.

He wasn't feeling any pain but his left leg didn't seem to do what he wanted it to do. It was there, stiff and useless. He didn't even feel it. He struggled in vain for what felt like an eternity. He was weak, tired, his mind beginning to be incoherent.

This was his end. There, alone, he would die.

The surface was nearer now. But he hadn't time anymore.

One last thought crossed his mind before the darkness sucked him in.

A name.

Victoria.

A sweet, melodious sound. A voice, the voice of a young woman, penetrated his dreams.

He tried to lift his heavy eyelids. The voice was still there, encouraging, comforting, promising. He blinked and managed to open his eyes just a bit. He focused on a face. Maybe he was dead and was watching an angel. She was a vision, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, smiling the sweetest smile right at him.

But, his eyelids were heavier with every passing second. He closed his eyes again and surrendered to his weakness.

Then, someone was slapping him lightly on a cheek, urging him to wake up. The voice of an aged man, this time. He opened his eyes and saw a bearded face, heard the voice ask who he was. He couldn't give that man what he wanted… It was too hard, and he didn't remember, he didn't CARE to remember, not now. But, the voice insisted, again and again. Couldn't he see he just wanted to sleep? No, he wouldn't leave him be.

"Tom", he managed to murmur, at last, just to make him stop. All he wanted, all he needed right now was to go back to the smiling vision in his dreams. Finally, the man left him alone and he immediately sank back into his dreams, where she was still smiling at him.

He certainly was home; a familiar aroma was coming from the kitchen where he knew Silas was preparing his special chicken soup. He heard his stomach grumble in yearning. He opened his eyes and managed to keep them that way, this time.

As he tried to move, an unexpected stab of blinding sharp pain struck him. He stopped, breathing hard, fighting the wave of nausea that immediately pervaded him, dangerously gripping his stomach, forming sweat on his forehead. His considerable strength was deserting him. He was in great pain, and he was sick. Helpless, he sank his head back in the pillow and turned his eyes around the unfamiliar room. No, he wasn't home, but lying in a white-sheeted bed, in a small room he had never seen before.

The only window was open and the small room was full of light, the light of a sunny day. A light breeze was coming in, making the curtain wave, floating in the air.

In that light he saw her again, coming graciously toward him with a tray in her hands. "Wake up Mr. Tom, you must be hungry. Hannah made her special chicken soup just for you, it will bring back your strength in no time. Make a try for me, will you?"

So she was real, not a figment of his imagination. Like in his dreams, her beauty was breathtaking. Her features were perfect, her golden brown curls resting softly on her shoulders. Again, he tried to rise but the pain and the nausea were there again. He groaned, his whole body aching.

"Don't try to move, your left leg is broken". Here, I'll put another pillow under your shoulders." She put the tray on the night table to help him change his position. Through the thick fog of his physical pain, he never diverted his eyes from her. She couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty.

His mind was urging for answers. "How… How do you know my name?", he managed to ask, his voice feeble and hoarse.

"You regained consciousness a couple of times yesterday, and said your name to the doctor, but slept since. You have stitches on your head, your leg is splinted… and you have too many bruises to be counted".

"How long have I been here?"

"Since the day before yesterday"

"What happened?"

"Someone beat you and throw you into the river… My friend Rachel and her husband found you on the shore, they thought you were dead. Do you remember anything?"

She sat on the edge of the bed he was lying on, the worry evident in her warm eyes.

Tom's last memory was… Yes, he was having an animated exchange of views with his foreman at the mine. He had discovered that the man had the bad habit of using young boys to set the charges. Later, he had had his lunch at the hotel. He had gone for a little walk in the streets of Strawberry. The town was growing; it was a boom town, bursting with life. But it was also dangerous. Now, he could certainly tell.

"No", he simply said, staring at her with his expressive light blue eyes.

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, Mr. Tom", she said disappointed, a pretty little pout forming on her lips, making his heart flip, regardless the pain. But very soon her sweet smile was there again. It lit up her eyes, lit up her whole pretty face, and Tom had to smile himself.

"Well, welcome to my humble home, Mr. Tom...?"

"Barkley, Thomas Barkley".

"Thomas Barkley… The owner of the mine?"

"Thomas Barkley, the one who was beaten and almost died if it wasn't for you and your friends, Miss….?"

"Leah, Leah Thomson".

"Call me Tom, Miss Thomson".

"Alright, Tom. But it's just Leah ", she said somewhat mischievously, blushing slightly. She diverted her eyes and took the tray from the night table. "Now let's put some nourishment into you, Tom".

Hannah's special chicken soup was just as delicious as Silas'.

In a way, he was actually home.


	2. Chapter 2

When he opened his eyes at the freezing cold enveloping his whole body, he didn't know why he was there or what had happened. He was surrounded by the water. There was water below and there was water above. His eyes open wide with fear, he began to swim toward the surface, his lungs yearning for air. His movements were slow, too slow. He was weak, his mind beginning to be incoherent.

This was his end. There, alone, he would die.

The surface was nearer now. But he hadn't any more time.

Suddenly someone was there, strong arms grabbing him carrying him upward. He was out of the water just in time, opened his mouth and greedily breathed, hot air painfully filling his lungs. He opened his eyes to look directly into his father's concerned, expressive light blue eyes.

"Fa… Father?", he muttered confused, panting, gasping. Then, he passed out.

The smell of fried fish woke his stomach first. He couldn't remember. Maybe he had gone fishing with his brothers and now Nick was cooking. Suddenly, the memory of those eyes resurfaced, silencing any other thought. Was Father with them? How could it be? Father was dead… had been killed… six years before.

The thought woke him up definitively. A young man was looking at him amused, with a small lopsided smile on his face.

"Boy Howdy, it was about time you woke up, Mister ", he said.

Jarrod started to rise, then realized he was naked under the sheet that covered him. Where were his clothes? His eyes searched around. There it was, his expensive suit, hanging from a tree branch stuck in the ground, above a campfire. Much more modest clothes that Jarrod assumed belonged to the other man, were hanging from another branch as well.

The young man, who could seemingly be around twenty-four, twenty-five years old and, by the way he was dressed, could be a cowboy, took his clothes and threw them to him.

"Sorry, I had to undress you… you were pretty wet", he said and laughed, then turned to give Jarrod some privacy. Jarrod watched him revive the fire poking the flames with the same branch he had used to hang his suit. "Breakfast's ready in five minutes. I cared to bring a couple of fish, along with a stylish dude, out of that river". He said jokingly. "You must be hungry, too, you threw up your dinner".

"I owe you my life, I suppose?", Jarrod asked, wearing his pants. He saw his boots there beside and grabbed one of them, then turned it upside down to let the water flow out. His poor expensive, polished leather boots. Jarrod groaned. His suitcase was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, I managed to bring you out of the water if that's what you're asking. Except for a black eye, a bloody nose and some bruises, you're going to be alright. I don't think you're going to die today, Mister. You're lucky, you know. You could've drowned. Someone beat you and threw you in the river".

Jarrod passed the back of his hand under his nose and watched it, blood. He watched upward, the way mother had taught him when he was a little boy and his nose was bleeding. The sky was blue, light blue, like his father's eyes… Why was he thinking about father so much?

The young man was sitting on a rock by the fire. He put the cooked fish into two tin plates and laid one on another flat rock next to him. "Don't let it get cold", he said with the amused tone Jarrod was beginning to get used to.

Jarrod rose and groaned, for the physical pain this time, wondering if there was a single place in his body that didn't hurt. He approached the boy, took his plate and sat beside him. He put out his hand. "Jarrod Barkley, eternally grateful for saving my life".

Jarrod watched the boy's shoulders stiffen just a bit and he heard a slight intake of breath at the mention of his name. The young man hesitated for just a moment, keeping his gaze on his own plate. Then he turned, all signs of joking gone from his face and took Jarrod's hand shaking it. "Heath Thomson", he said, staring at him with such intensity that for a moment it took Jarrod's breath away. That's why he had been thinking Father was there when he woke up, those eyes were exactly of the same shade of blue.

But what struck Jarrod the most was what he could see behind those eyes, an intriguing mix of shyness and wildness shone through them. The father he had known wasn't shy but could be quite wild. He was a natural born leader, the most charismatic man he had ever known. He could see an almost matching charisma, yet dissimilar for the different social standing and age shine through this young man, Heath.

Jarrod noticed the patches by both elbows of Heath's checkered shirt, the worn out boots, the too long hair. This young man, who had saved his life, wasn't certainly swimming in gold.

The little shy smile appeared again and Jarrod realized he was still keeping Heath's hand in his own and quickly released it, slightly embarrassed.

Heath went back to eat his fish, apparently uneasy under Jarrod's piercing gaze. Jarrod just couldn't help it, there was something in Heath that made him feel inexplicably drawn to him.

"Don't you like your fish, Mr. Barkley"? Heath asked, trying to divert Jarrod's attention from himself.

"It's Jarrod, and I'm sorry, I guess I was daydreaming. I do like my fish very much, thank you".

For a moment they both keep silent, chewing their food. Jarrod realized how very hungry he was, and the fish was delicious.

"Those men who beat you…", Heath said between one bite and another, "You're lucky they didn't take that fancy saddle on your horse, Mr… ah Jarrod".

"Jingo!" Jarrod suddenly stood, worried about his old friend's well-being.

"Don't worry, he's safe. I found him pretty scared not far from here and brought him back, while you were sleeping".

Jarrod caught sight of his horse, who was placidly nibbling grass next to a little black mare, and felt relieved. He was amazed, though: Jingo was a quiet horse, but diffident. He wondered how Heath had managed to handle him. He sat again.

"What brings you in the Valley, Heath, business or pleasure?"

"Business. I'm looking for a job".


	3. Chapter 3

At age twenty-one, Leah Thomson had never been in love but had been married. She was just eighteen when Charlie Sawyer had promised to free her from her half-brother and his wife's clutches. But that never happened and it wasn't long before Leah discovered that her husband didn't nor had ever cared for her. He took the little money she had and one day disappeared. She had been alone since.

Leah worked hard at her brother and sister in law's hotel cooking, serving the tables and cleaning the rooms, treated like a slave for a miserable wage. But she was happy. Rachel and Hannah were her best friends and filled her days with laugh and joy. She had inherited her family's book collection and had read all the classics. She was poor, like a woman without a man often was, but had all that she deemed important in life, a house, good friends, enough food on the table and food for her soul. She didn't feel the need of a man in her life.

But then Tom came and Leah fell in love for the first time. Everything changed. The light was different, colors were different, even tastes were different. She was still happy, actually happier than she had ever been, but slowly a void formed inside her. It was like she now was missing something, a part of her soul, and Tom was the only one who could give her that something, fill that void.

She had never felt in such a harmony with any human being before. They were matching souls. Anything she needed she'd found in Tom, anything she wanted, Tom would give her.

Tom was an influential, wealthy man twice her age. He was strong and handsome and knew the world. He was certainly married, with children, probably. While unconscious he had repeatedly called a woman's name, Victoria. Leah was a God-fearing woman and wouldn't hurt anyone nor had she ever imagined to be in the position of seducing someone to break their wedding vows. But love had turned her selfish. She wanted Tom for herself for as long and as much as she could. She needed to share everything with him, even herself, not just her heart but her body also. And she could sense how much he wanted that, too.

Tom was struggling with his own feelings. He was happily married. His wife Victoria, was his soul mate. She was his partner for life and his best friend. She was beautiful, wise, strong and brave. And she knew him better than he knew himself. They had two sons he loved dearly and they planned to have more. He wanted her by his side for the rest of their lives. They would grow old together and watch their children become men and one day have their own children making them proud grandparents. They had started it all together, all that he had he owed to her.

They were young when they had married and come to the West to realize their dreams. They didn't know how hard it would be. And hard it had been, very hard. But Victoria was his rock and he had always drawn strength from her iron will. Tom was not much of a believer but his faith in his family was unwavering and he'd never imagine he'd break his wedding vows.

But now, Leah was there.

He couldn't deny the feelings he was experiencing. When they were together, it was like no one else existed in the whole world. Time didn't count anymore. They could talk for hours, or just stare into each other's eyes. Her youth, her light spirit, made him feel carefree and young himself. In her company, he was happy like never before. He couldn't deny that in a way he irrefutably, irresistibly, irrationally, definitively loved Leah.

Nothing had happened between the two of them yet, nothing physical at least, but both knew something eventually would. They wanted more. They needed more.

Tom had obtained the doctor's permission to take short walks with a stick and Leah's aid and that evening they decided to walk in the little garden that surrounded Leah's cabin. She wrapped her arm around his waist and they slowly covered the perimeter. Tom was exhausted. They sat on the porch swing, very close to one another and the long, deep kiss that followed was the most natural thing. The world owed them that kiss. Leah breathed deeply, her fevered eyes fixed on his intense gaze. Tom cupped her flushed cheek. As she covered his hand with her own, she felt like melting inside and knew their moment had come.

Tom knew that was the time to be honest, to tell her the truth about his family. He'd never be in the position to give her what she deserved, no matter how badly he might want to.

"Leah…." he began.

"No, don't say anything, I don't want to know", she said in a whisper.

She stood and put out her hand. Tom hesitated. What she wasn't saying, he could hear loud and clear. If he took that hand there was no return.

Tom took the offered hand.

Leah led him toward her bedroom, Tom didn't make any resistance.


	4. Chapter 4

Heath took a deep breath, held it inside and slipped on his back sinking with his upper body into the water letting it close above his head his knees out, his legs too long to keep them under the surface.

He closed his eyes, thinking about the events of the previous day, the man he didn't realize was his brother's rescue from the river, the cold waters drenching his clothes, the struggle to carry the dead weight of the unconscious man on the shore, working to keep his head above the fighting wild force of the stream.

They had arrived at the house while everyone was out except for Silas, their butler (yes, they did have a butler), and now Jarrod had introduced him to The Pleasures Of The Hot Bath. Boy howdy. That was very similar to his idea of paradise.

It was amazing how being immersed in hot water could make a man feel. Heath was once again the unborn child in his mother's womb, cuddled in a warm cocoon. All of his skin was hot and it felt good. His body and mind felt regenerated, healed from any physical or mental scratches. The ragged tramp who spent his life wandering around looking for something he didn't know was somebody else; the daily struggle and the fatigue to survive was a faraway memory. Gone along with the dirty clothes.

He reemerged, took a deep breath and sank again.

Silas had shown him the towels to be used after his bath. There was a whole pile of them. Clean, soft, white towels. Behind his formal ways it was clear Silas was a smart man. Jarrod had greeted him warmly, like an old friend or one of the family.

Jarrod…

The man he had saved was actually his brother. Brother…he kind of liked the sound of the word. He had been an only child his whole life. In his childish innocence, he had asked his mama for a little brother or sister, but his mother had always been faithful to the love of her life, the Great Tom Barkley.

He and Jarrod had talked on their way to the ranch and he had discovered that Jarrod was an affirmed lawyer. Heath had made him talk, he was pretty good at that. He was the best of the listeners. So Jarrod talked and talked and Heath learned a bit about the man he was. Jarrod's faith in the law and in man's justice was rather naive. Heath, for his misfortune, knew better. He had known corruptible judges, corrupt sheriffs and ruthless men who wore a badge and killed just to collect their bounty.

Heath owned a sense of wit and humor and could say the oddest things with the most serious face. Jarrod hadn't realized that at first and had tried to answer exhaustively this young man's questions, who seemed to be so interested in law and justice. But soon the lawyer had caught Heath's little smile. He had laughed at himself, apparently amused by his savior's shrewdness. What had followed had been more similar to a brotherly banter Heath could imagine. He had enjoyed that so much. Under the surface, Heath's lopsided smile appeared.

For the second time, he reemerged to take a breath and went down again.

Not only he had saved his brother's life, but he was now going to meet the whole family. In their own house. Well, almost the whole family, he corrected himself: Jarrod had told him that the youngest Barkley son was away at the college. Boy howdy, he didn't have just one brother, no, he had three! And a sister!

And then there was Her. Was he really going to meet her? The woman his father had been cheating on, with a little help from his mama? The very thought made his gut knot.

Out, breath, in.

He liked Jarrod. He liked him a lot to say it all, but didn't know what to expect from the rest of them. He had read the article about Tom Barkley's death and knew they were wealthy, but hadn't known to what extent until they had reached the house's iron gates, with their intricately decorated arch above, and the impressive mansion beyond. Five white majestic square pillars, with ivy climbing up on them, in front of an equally white majestic facade. And what about the inside? He could swear the foyer was larger than his uncle's hotel entrance hall, with a golden carpeted grand staircase curving gently up to the second floor.

Suddenly, he realized the water had sensibly cooled. How long had he been there daydreaming? He reemerged and blinked.

Two discrete knocks at the door brought him suddenly to reality.

"Mr. Thomson, the family is gathered in the study and would be pleased if you'd join them. Dinner will be served at six", Silas said politely from behind the door.

Heath awkwardly rose and began to empty the bathtub.

"Be there in a few minutes, thank you", he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Now he couldn't change his mind, he couldn't run away. His unavoidable future was closer.

He collected his dirty clothes and, hopping on one foot, put them in the dirty laundry basket, then reached the pile of clean towels, quickly dried his body and hair, and finally took the clean clothes Silas had put on a stool, probably Jarrod's old clothes.

Once dressed, with his hand on the knob, he closed his eyes one more time, inhaled deeply and released his breath slowly, then opened the door, ready to face his destiny.


	5. Chapter 5

Day by day, a long time passed since Tom Barkley had made his home with Leah Thomson in the little cabin the young woman shared with Hannah James. He had arrived beaten, broken and half dead but now he was once again the strong, healthy man who had left his wife and children in Stockton months ago. His leg was still a little stiff, but he could ride.

Day by day, precious moment by precious moment, their love had grown, but Leah knew Tom would soon leave.

She knew that because Tom was restless. She knew that because he was worried, his concern deepening with each passing day.

Sitting alone on the porch swing, where they had kissed for the first time, Leah was watching the sunrise. The smile that appeared on her lips wasn't the one Tom had fallen in love with, the one able to light up her eyes. This one was a sad, bitter smile. How ironic: the sun was rising, but her own sun was inexorably setting. Tom Barkley, the one man who spread light and warmth in her life.

Tom was the only man she had ever loved and the only one she would. The pain for the loss that was already real in her heart filled her eyes. She blinked and let the tear drops come down her cheeks and over her lips. She captured one with the tip of her tongue. She absently noticed it was salty. Some of them got caught in her long lashes, causing her vision to blur. She retrieved her handkerchief from inside her sleeve and used it to dry her eyes and her flushed cheeks. Tom wouldn't see her cry.

Suddenly, another thought crossed her mind. This time there it was, the smile Tom so much cherished. It reached her eyes, and a little sound escaped her lips, a moan of joy.

Leah had a secret.

The sound of what she had learned to discern as Tom's characteristic step came from the room they had shared, across the little cabin and toward her. Those steps were different, yet, they sounded definitive. Leah didn't turn, nor gave Tom any clue that she was aware of his presence. From behind, he lightly kissed the side of her neck, there near her little, perfect ear savoring the sensation that brushing his lips on her silky skin gave him, savoring the smell of flowers in her hair. She smiled and turned her face to lightly kiss him on his lips as he bent toward her.

"Take a seat Tom, here beside me", she said, no more trace of tears on her joyful face.

Tom went around her and sat down with a tentative smile on his face. With his heart broken he braced himself to break hers too. He had survived from drowning but now consumed with guilt he was feeling like he was still there, under the surface, enveloped by the cold black waters, wishing he could stop fighting, surrender and forget about himself. In another life, in another time, he would have certainly married Leah. But now it was this life and this time, and it was impossible.

Tom was known as a skilled orator but words didn't come easy this time. "Leah…" he began. He just shook his head and dropped his eyes. She put a hand under his chin and lifted his head, searching his sad blue eyes. She could read those eyes so well. She noticed they had darkened, veiled by the shadow of his regrets. But there deep inside, in those depths, there was the essence of her Tom, his true being, her true love.

She nodded encouragingly. "Tell me, my love. Say what you have come to say".

"Leah…" he tried again. His voice broke, tears filling his eyes. "I love you, Leah. I truly love you. But I can't stay any longer. I...".

She pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. "I love you, too, Tom, and I know you can't stay, I've always known that", she said, her voice just above a whisper.

He shook his head again. "You deserve so much more than this, Leah. Please, let me help you".

"Don't you dare offer money to me, Tom Barkley. Don't you understand what it would mean if you'd do that?"

Tom nodded, understanding all too well what she meant.

"Leah, promise me you'll let me know if there's something wrong. If… if that no-good brother of yours…"

She interrupted him mid-sentence with a kiss, a passionate, deep kiss that he desperately returned. Then they hugged, breathing fast. She rested her head in the space between his neck and shoulder, her eyes closed, breathing in his scent for the last time, feeling the comfort of his warmth in the chill of the early morning air. She shivered in his arms.

"Promise me, Leah…"

"I promise. I'll write if there's something wrong, Tom."

They stayed that way for a long time. Then Leah pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "I'll always love you, Tom Barkley", she said with conviction.

He nodded, watching her intensely, his heart heavy with a hopeless feeling of longing for something that could have been but never would. Then he turned and went away fearing he'd change his mind if he stayed even a moment longer.

Leah's eyes followed Tom until he was not visible anymore. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to see Hannah's compassionate eyes. Her friend's touch was too much. Finally, Leah broke down in tears, a desperate cry coming directly from the core of her being.

Hannah lovingly embraced her as she sat beside her, on the still warm place Tom had left vacant. "Cry, my sweet child, cry", she murmured. And Leah cried, for a long time, in the arms of the older woman.

But, Leah had a secret.

She owned something precious as life itself. She put a hand on her abdomen, and there she let it rest.

Tom had gone, but she would never be alone anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

The study was a spacious room dominated by a large portrait of Tom Barkley over the fireplace mantel.

Jarrod had introduced Heath to the family – Mrs Barkley, Nick and Audra – and now they were sipping their drinks and conversing.

Mrs Barkley was… regal. He couldn't find a better definition. She seemed to be walking on air, graciously sliding instead of walking. But, her eyes were kind. And, curious. And, smart. She was something, indeed. His sister, Audra, was beautiful like a princess from a fairy tale. Her sweet smile, those pretty dimples, that perfect little nose, were immediately able to raise inside his heart feelings he had never felt for anybody before: affinity, endearment, kinship and a fierce sense of protection. Could it really happen so quickly?

His brother Nick was another story. He was a tall, very confident man who could be in his late twenties, and who – he had learned - was the one in charge of the ranch. Jarrod had told him in no uncertain terms that they were going to hire Heath. Consequently, Heath had had to face a barrage of questions from the man about his working abilities, the last place he had worked, where he came from. Heath had tried to be honest without revealing too much about himself, but Nick seemed to grow increasingly skeptical with every answer Heath had managed to give, making him feel increasingly uneasy, the situation made worst by the furtive glances She – Victoria Barkley, his father's widow – was stealing at him.

After Nick's questioning, he took a look around. Each of them seemed to be in perfect harmony with each other and in the luxury surrounding them. He was the one out of place.

And, that portrait. It was looming over him. He couldn't help but turn his eyes toward it and, the more he watched it, the more it seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. It would soon fall from the wall, right on his head. Wouldn't it be ironic? Killed by the portrait of the very man who had never wanted him. Thomas Barkley, his father. The one who had done a quick work of forgetting his mother for good, who had never wanted to know about him, had never cared enough to turn his head to look back at what (who) he had left behind.

In his head, all the bad words people had thrown at them for all those years were echoing, tormenting him. One, above all the others. That word, that had made his life miserable. Suddenly he felt lost. What was he doing there, among these people? He couldn't breathe here. All he wanted to do, now, was to go outside and run, far from these people, away from this house. He wasn't ready to face them, not yet, maybe never. They had done nothing to him, why should he ruin their lives? No, he had seen what he wanted to see, now he had to go before it was too late.

In that moment, Victoria's eyes met his. They stayed that way for a while, it was like she had captured his gaze and wouldn't let it go. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, while he saw her glimpse of recognition and watched her startle. Not without difficulties, he diverted his eyes back to the glass he was holding with so much force his knuckles were white. He gulped down what was still there and put it down on the tray table. Resolutely, he took Jarrod aside. "Jarrod, I'm not staying for dinner tonight" (I am a bastard, I can't sit at the same table with decent people).

"Heath? I don't understand…"

"No reason for me to stay here." (I saw the way your mother is looking at me, Jarrod. I am your father's bastard son!).

"But there's a very valid reason, Heath: you saved my life!"

"Nothing that I wouldn't have done for anybody, Jarrod." (I'm a bastard, Jarrod, just your father's bastard son… I can't do anything good, don't you know that?).

"Heath, please… at least tell me why!"

Wouldn't this brother leave him alone? He couldn't stay one more minute in that house, in that room. He had to put an end to it, and soon. Did Jarrod really want to know why he couldn't stay? Well, he would tell him.

He spoke loudly, coldly, dropping each word like a stone in a pond: "Because I am your father's bastard son!"

Everyone froze and, in the heavy silence that followed, stared at him.

Heath shook his head, in disbelief of what he had just said, then stormed out of the room and out of the house.

Nick was the first to react, beginning to follow him, but Victoria put a hand on his chest. "Nick, don't.", she said, and that was enough for her son to abstain from moving further.

Victoria couldn't sleep. Heath. Heath was all she could think about. The thought of the young man who had declared to be her late husband's son was haunting her. She knew what he had said could be true. He had said to Nick he was from Strawberry and that he was twenty-four. Right place, right time.

But it wasn't just that. She had seen something in him at first sight.

Sitting on her bed, she reached for the portrait on her night table. Her Tom and herself on the day they had married. She caressed the picture. "Oh, Tom", she said, as she felt the tears immediately fill her eyes. She had never stopped missing him. On the contrary, she missed him more day after day.

And now, this boy had come. This young man… that she knew was special. She could see it under the surface. Beyond the shyness there was pride. Beyond the apparent simplicity there was a vivid intelligence. Beyond the cynicism there was charm. Beyond the bitterness there was a yearning, a need to belong. It was so clear to be seen. She could see it very well. And his eyes. So much like his father's.

She smiled, sadly. "Like his father's", she repeated in a whisper. The thought had formed in her mind as a matter of fact. She had no doubts: Heath was Tom Barkley's son.

"Mother, may I come in?", she heard her daughter's voice from beyond her door.

"Yes, darling", she replied, putting the portrait back on the night table.

Audra came in and sat on the bed, beside her mother. Like in a déjà-vu, Victoria watched her daughter as she took her parents' portrait and caressed it, in the same exact way she had done just five minutes before. Audra watched the portrait for a long time, thoughtfully. Then, she put it back and looked at her mother.

"Mother, do you think it could be true what Heath said? Is he my brother?".

"Yes, I do, darling. I do think he is indeed your brother".


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you sure, Mother?" Jarrod asked. He looked tired. They all looked tired. Victoria wondered if any of them had slept that night.

"I am, Jarrod", she said. "Do you think I'd say such a thing about your father if I wasn't sure?" She took a sip of her coffee, fighting to keep her need to cry under control.

Jarrod recalled the moment he had seen Heath's eyes for the first time and had thought to be watching his father. The familiarity he felt with the boy was something that he couldn't define but that was unmistakably there. He wondered if Nick and Audra felt the same.

"We must find him before it's too late", Victoria added. "He could go anywhere... We may never see him again!"

Nick was uncharacteristically quiet, looking into his coffee as he could find there the answers to his questions.

"Then, we'll have all the time to discuss the rest", Victoria continued. "He has a right to an equal part of the heritage, he needs a bank account and…."

Nick spoke for the first time, that morning: "Now, don't rush Mother. Don't you think it's premature to talk about the heritage?"

"Nick is right, Mother", Jarrod intervened. "Given he's actually Father's son, I hardly believe he can legally..."

Victoria stood, looked first at Jarrod, then at Nick. She spoke calmly, but her tone was full of resolve.

"I'm not going to say this twice, so please listen carefully. I'm not talking about what's legal. I'm talking about what's right. You all are adults and I'm sure you know what to be an illegitimate son means. There's a young man out there, with your same blood in his veins, and I can't think about what he had to face in his life." Her voice wavered. "I believe your father and I have taught to you the difference between right and wrong. I don't think I need to add anything else."

Jarrod and Nick had lowered their gazes. Audra was openly crying, not even trying to hide her tears.

Jarrod was the first to react. He passed around the table, put a hand on his sister's shoulder, reassuringly. Then he took his mother's arm to make her turn, embraced her. He bent to place a kiss on the top of her silver hair. He was so proud of her.

"We'll find him, Mother", he stated, and felt her nod against his shoulder.

"Let's go get the boy", Nick said, resolutely, already walking toward the door.

 _Leah had never written to Tom. She had promised to do so if something was wrong, but nothing was wrong with this beautiful, healthy, sweet child of their love. The boy was beautiful indeed, gifted with a mixture of the best qualities of both his parents. His features were those of Leah, but he had his father's eyes._

On the wooden bridge that crossed the river, looking down at the waters where he had first met Jarrod, the illegitimate child born of Tom Barkley and Leah Thomson's love, was thinking about his mama. She was warm, and gentle and fair, and had loved him with all her heart. When he had begun to ask about his father, Leah had told him his father was the best man she had ever known. She wasn't lying. She still loved Tom. But, she had never revealed his name. The day she had died, she had finally confessed who he was.

Heath reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded paper. He unfolded it and stared at his father's picture. It was the newspaper article her mother had kept for six years, since Tom Barkley's tragic death.

 _She was very sick, her voice just above a whisper. "Take the Bible, Love", she had said to her son, "there, in that box. Turn to the back, to the last page". He had started to do as instructed and the paper had fallen out. He had picked it up and read it. Then he had looked at her, and she was gone._

He dropped the paper. In a matter of seconds, it was enveloped and carried away by the current, swallowed under the surface, just like, in a matter of seconds he had thrown away the chance to know his father's family. He was surprised at the sting of tears. He shook his head at the hopeless feeling of longing for something that could have been but never would.

He mounted his little black mare and was going to turn and leave forever, when he saw two men on horseback on the other side of the bridge. While they were slowly crossing, one after the other, he recognized them: they were his brothers, Jarrod and Nick. Did they come to get him? Had they believed what he had said? What he knew was that he was unexpectedly glad to see them and smiled crookedly as they reached him.

Neither of them talked, they just stared at each other.

Heath took off his hat and used it to fan himself.

"Hot, ain't it?" he asked, the smile still on his face.

"Yeah, you can really raise a sweat this time of year", Nick replied, amused.

"What about refreshing in a comfortable bathtub?" Jarrod asked, "or would you prefer a swim in the river?"

"That's you, Jarrod, not me", Heath said, and laughed, soon joined in his hilarity by his brothers.

"Come on, let's go home", Nick said.


	8. Chapter 8

Nick couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Heath. In his heart, he was still doubtful. He needed to be, for his family's sake and for loyalty to his father's memory. They all seemed to be so sure: his siblings, and Mother above all the others. But, Nick wasn't. He still couldn't believe his father had done what they all seemed to believe he had done with Heath's mother and had then "forgotten", willingly or not, to check on the aftermath. It wasn't like him to act recklessly. He was a man of strong principles: to have a son out of wedlock wasn't one of those.

Then again, he could feel a sense of familiarity when he was with Heath. It was something he couldn't define but that was unmistakably there, stronger day after day. He had been observing how his siblings were around the newcomer. Jarrod was intrigued by the young man, Audra already loved Heath like she loved all her brothers.

Heath clearly enjoyed working on the ranch, seemed to be born to it, and was surprisingly skilled, for one coming from a mining town. He had to admit to himself it had been a pleasure to have him working by his side, in the few weeks he had been with them. They were beginning to form a relationship… a friendship. Despite himself and the unkind thoughts he had had just minutes before, Nick smiled inwardly. Since he could remember, he had known Jarrod's life would be wholly dedicated to the law. His youngest brother, Eugene, was a good boy, and worshiped his older brothers, especially Nick. But, despite his loyalty toward him, Gene was much more like Jarrod. Like their eldest brother, he loved to read more than to ride. He was bound to become a doctor or a veterinarian… or maybe a poet as far as Nick knew, since he still was a little confused about the path he would follow. But, he was young and a good student. He would no doubt succeed in whatever he'd choose. One thing Nick knew for sure: Eugene would never spend his life working on the ranch.

Now, talking about the ranch, Nick had other reasons to be worried. He had followed his family's instructions and had talked to the men the very first day, making it clear that, being a Barkley, Heath was going to be one of the bosses. Some of them had preferred to pack their things and leave, rather than taking orders from "a bastard". In his bed, with his eyes closed, Nick frowned. Before Heath had come, Nick didn't know words could be so hurtful. That they could cut like a knife. "Bastard" was always pronounced with disdain, and it was extremely unpleasant to him, repulsive, odious. And, since Heath had come, that word seemed to be following them everywhere.

Nick knew all too well that some of the hands had stayed just because they needed the job. He knew some of them hadn't accepted Heath, yet. Hell, he was sure some of them would never accept him. How could they, if he was the first one doubting him? That was going to be a big problem. In fact, although Heath wouldn't talk about it, Nick knew he had had more than a fight already, one that very day. He had seen him storm into the house, his face bruised, his clothes dirty and ragged. He had climbed the stairs two steps at the time and slammed his room's door. He hadn't even joined the family for dinner, having appointed Silas to advise them about his lack of appetite. Nick knew better than that, but had just pretended not to see: Heath was a very private man and didn't look like one who was willing to have a friendly talk, that day.

Maybe, he had been selfish. Maybe, the boy would accept a helping hand, maybe he needed someone, a friend. And, he had ignored him. Darn. Why were those thoughts tormenting him? All he wanted to do, now, was to sleep. Well, he couldn't deny that, notwithstanding his doubts, he did like Heath, whoever he was, and had to admit he didn't deserve such a bad treatment and disrespect from the men. Feeling guilty and uncomfortable, Nick turned on his other side in his bed. From now on, he wasn't going to lose sight of the boy until things changed. They said time fixed everything, and if it wouldn't, Nick would fix things his way. With this resolution taken, he sighed in satisfaction, allowing himself to finally relax and surrender to sleep.

But, his sleep was far too short. Suddenly, he woke up to a sound, a thud, followed by a crushing noise, like breaking glass. He sat on the bed and listened carefully. Now, he could hear a muffled sound, a sobbing he could say. He rushed out of bed and out of his room. Heath's room was just across his own, and the sounds were coming from there. He opened the door and found the young man sitting on the floor, torn sheets all around him. Falling from his bed, he had evidently hit the pitcher that was on the night table, dragging it down with him, and now bits of broken china were scattered all over on the floor.

Nick made a couple of steps inside the room, then froze. He couldn't move further. It hit him like a blow in the stomach. The sight of Heath's face. The sight of Heath's tears. They were freely coming down his closed eyes, along his cheeks. He was clearly sleeping, still in the grip of some terrifying nightmare. And, that cry. Those moans. It was heartwrenching. Fighting against the force that seemed to be holding him still, anchored to the ground, Nick cautiously crouched in front of Heath and put both hands on his shoulders, shaking him lightly, speaking just above a whisper.

"Heath, wake up… Heath!"

Heath opened his confused eyes, startled notwithstanding his brother's uncharacteristic tact. As soon as he acknowledged someone's presence in front of him, he raised his gaze toward Nick. Their eyes locked and Nick's heart leaped in his chest. They had never been that close before: Heath had Father's eyes. But it wasn't just about their color or shape. There was much more to it: they were lit by the same light. It was what that was behind those eyes, that made them look so strikingly alike. The overall resemblance was stunning. And, Nick was seeing all that just now. He was eventually seeing what his mother had seen from the first moment she had laid her eyes on this boy, he was now seeing what he couldn't or wouldn't see before: what he now knew it was the truth. For the first time, Nick felt absolutely sure that this young man – Heath – was indeed his brother. It was like a veil had been removed from his eyes, like he was seeing him for the first time. Heath was his brother, and this knowledge wasn't going to change. Not ever.

Under his brother's eyes, Heath felt scrutinized. He lowered his gaze, embarrassed, blushing. As soon as he realized that, Nick took a moment to put back together a resemblance of composure. He was feeling like he had just climbed a mountain, that fast his heart was racing. But, his brother was the one in need of help.

"Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of, Heath", Nick said softly, "It was just a bad dream, it happens to the best of us", he tried to joke. He stood and proffered his hand. "Here, let me help", he said.

Heath raised his eyes again to look at him, and again Nick felt his heart leap. On Heath's face appeared the lopsided smile Nick was beginning to get used to, as he accepted the proffered hand.

"Thanks, Nick", he said.

"Oh, never mind, that's what brothers do", Nick replied in that gruff tone of his, smiling broadly.

Heath sat on the bed and Nick sat beside him. "Do you want to talk about it? Does this have something to do with what happened with the men, yesterday?" Nick asked.

"How do you know?" Heath asked in surprise, frowning slightly.

"To know what's going on here is my job, boy, and I take my job very seriously", Nick replied, his tone somewhere between serious and humorous.

Heath thought for a while, without getting the joke in his brother's voice, far too distraught for that. With his eyes low, he nodded slowly, sighing heavily. "That probably... probably triggered a reaction. I happen to be plagued by nightmares, from time to time… I never know if something might cause them, or when it's going to happen, they come with no warning", he said sheepishly, like he was revealing some shameful truth about himself. "Look , Nick, I'm very sorry for having woken you", he added turning his face toward Nick's, suddenly aware of the fact he had disturbed his brother's sleep, the usual worry about the opinion this brother had of him beginning to resurface.

"Aw, no need to be sorry Heath. Don't be. I'm your brother and I'm willing to help, if I can and you'll let me".

Heath's mouth fell open. Had he got Nick's words right? Was it possible…? Could it be likely that this stubborn, ornery man who barely tolerated him had had a change of heart? All of sudden? And why? He wasn't stupid, he knew Nick hadn't believed his story about their father. But, yet…

In the silence that followed Nick's last spoken words, time seemed to stand still, and he began to feel uneasy. He wasn't used to sitting quietly. On the contrary, his instinct was to pace restlessly, when he had something in his mind. It helped him to think, to work things out. But, now, it just didn't seem the right thing to do. Nick took a deep breath. He had to say something, anything to break the silence, now. He had to leave, there was nothing he could do, here. It was clear Heath didn't want his help. But, when he was almost going to bid Heath goodnight and leave the room, his younger brother's calm voice reached his ears. He spoke flatly, almost absently, like if he was talking about someone else, not about himself. "I spent seven months in Carterson at the end of the war", he said without preamble, keeping his eyes on his feet.

"What?" Nick was incredulous. "How can it be, I was too young myself, but you… you couldn't have been more than a kid by the end of the war. Carterson? How the hell…?" Nick's words froze on his lips. Heath was nodding, gaze still downcast.

Nick shook his head, shocked at what he had just learned. Instinctively, he reached out and propped his arm around the boy's shoulders, in a reassuring gesture, just like he would have done with either of his other siblings. Heath didn't complain, maybe he wasn't even aware Nick was there, lost in his memories. "I've seen things…", Heath said, his voice just above a whisper, "things I just want to forget, things I buried in the most hidden part of my mind. But, at times, they come back haunting me in my dreams. I can't help it." He shook his head: why was he telling these things to Nick? He was his brother, yes, yet still a perfect stranger to him. Was he actually revealing his most hidden secrets to this man? Again, he silently shook his head in disbelief of his own actions and words. But, then, he heard Nick's words.

"I'm sorry, Heath, I'm so sorry. No man should have been in a place like that, let alone a kid". Nick swallowed back the tears of sorrow and anger he was feeling come to the surface. He tightened his hold on Heath. He wanted to make him feel his closeness, ease his pain with his warmth. He couldn't go back in time to undo what had been done. He couldn't change the past. But, maybe he could do something now. He could carry part of Heath's weight.

Heath was suddenly aware of Nick's arm around his shoulders. He wasn't used to physical contacts, not since his mother's death. Nick's gestures and words brought tears to his eyes. Tears, for the surprise of having found a helping hand just when he needed it. Tears, for he realized this man was caring. Tears, for this man who was caring was his brother, and he suddenly knew something had changed between the two of them, that a bond was being forming, that from now on he could trust this man. Tears of joy, for a change.

Nick's heart was broken. He, himself had seen horrible things in the war and had had his share of nightmares. He turned his head as he pulled away to better see the boy's face, to see those eyes again, their father's eyes. To feel again that leap of recognition in his heart. "You're here now, Heath, and you're safe", he said reassuringly. "Now, you need to go back to bed. You have to be in good shape, you know. This is a working ranch, boy, and the morning is coming soon. You know what? I'll stay here and wait until you're asleep", he said, no trace of hesitation in his voice. He went to the wardrobe and fetched a new set of sheets, then quickly made the bed.

Heath dried his face with his hand, following his brother's movements with his eyes. "There's no need…", he begun, just to be interrupted by Nick's resolute voice. "No, don't say that. I wasn't sleeping anyway, and we both can use some company".

Heath nodded, smiling sadly, and climbed the freshly made bed, finding it soft and comfortable. He turned on his flank, between the sheets. "Thanks, Nick", he said again. Then, tired and feeling finally safe, he immediately fell into a dreamless sleep. "You're welcome, Heath", Nick replied after a moment, knowing the boy was already fast asleep and couldn't hear him. He put a hand on Heath's arm and shook his head.

He couldn't say exactly when it had begun, probably sometime that same night, but, beyond the acknowledgment of their kinship, he did feel something for this boy, and it wasn't just sympathy for what he had just heard.

Could it be brotherly love?


	9. Chapter 9

It was the perfect afternoon of a perfect Sunday. A soft breeze was blowing from the north, just enough to cool down the heat that bit. Sitting on the grass, leaning with his back on a tree, watching the clear waters rush, Heath was thinking about his good luck. Victoria Barkley, his father's widow, was a fine lady, he couldn't think of one finer except for his own mother. In those few inches of a woman was an incredible amount of strength, and she was sophisticated, charming, smart, and wise. She treated him like a son, just like she treated her other sons, making him feel cared for, welcomed. Her other sons? Was he really thinking that he was a son to her? Yes, that's exactly what he was daring to think. He could feel her love, he did. It was a sweet feeling, to be loved by a mother again, it warmed his heart. But, maybe he was just seeing things, maybe she was just trying to be kind to her late husband's bastard son. Well, he didn't want to think about that just yet. For a change, he was allowing himself to believe in someone else's affection. He wanted, needed to trust other human beings again. Right now he just wanted to embrace what was coming and enjoy the moment.

He knew by experience good things didn't last long, and there were a lot of good things in his life, in this moment. So, How long would this all last? Working with Nick, he was doing what he loved the most, and he was doing it on his family's land, in what he now considered his home. It was a dream come true. He had never had anything. Now he had more than he could fathom. Indeed, Jarrod had mentioned the family had interests in different fields, but he had no idea what those fields could be. As far as he was concerned, the ranch was enough.

Nick had said that now he was one of the bosses, but he wasn't used to being one. For his brother, to be a Barkley was enough, that it came by blood, right. But, for him it wasn't that easy, was it? Nick was born to the name he wasn't. He wasn't sure he felt like a Barkley to start with. And, it was very clear that most of the ranch hands weren't sure he was a Barkley altogether. Heath could tell. He had learned the lesson soon enough, he had spent his life learning lessons.

Since that night, though, the night he had had that awful nightmare and he had bared his soul to Nick, his brother had become his shadow, always keeping him within eyesight. They spent all day together. He knew Nick was trying to keep him safe and that was a good feeling. That someone was watching over him, that someone would always be on his side. Since that night, their bond had strengthened and he knew how much Nick cared for him now, and he was grateful for that. But, he had tried to explain to his brother that he didn't fear the men, he had survived far worse. He'd fight for what he was entitled to, with his fists, if necessary.

The past week they had worked really hard in preparation for the next cattle drive. Now, he needed some time alone. He had been able to escape his brother's strict surveillance and had come to his favorite place by the stream, for some much needed moments of peace and silence. So many things had happened. He needed to think.

Heath sighed in satisfaction and pushed his hat's brim onward in order to protect his eyes from the sun then, lost in his thoughts and cuddled by the sound of the water, ended up dozing.

Nick was pacing the room, with a whirlwind of thoughts crowding his head. Why wasn't Heath home yet? He should have been back by now. Nick had felt his brother's need to be alone and had reluctantly let him go. Still he couldn't help but worry. And he had had enough waiting. Patience wasn't his strong point. He wasn't a man who waited for things to happen, he was the one who made them happen. He'd go looking for his brother.

"Nick?" Victoria was coming down the stairs.

"Oh, good afternoon Mother" Nick greeted. Darn. He should have gone already. He didn't feel like answering the questions he was already seeing coming. He hadn't the time for that, not now. Fighting the urge to run out before she could reach him, he shot her his best grin, hoping to look reassuring.

"Where are you going? Dinner is at six, you know that". Her son was visibly uneasy. Was there something he was trying to hide from her? Well, she had no doubt he would answer her questions.

"Oh, Heath said he was going for a ride, thought I'd join him. We'll be back in time for dinner, Mother", Nick offered offhandedly, already walking toward the front door. Victoria intercepted him and grabbed his wrist in her hand, searching his eyes. He sighed in resignation. She could read him like no other. The tall, tough man was like a child in her hands.

"Nick, is there something I should know?" she asked worriedly.

"No, Mother, I can't say that. Actually, it's just a feeling."

"The men are giving him a hard time. I know that Nick, don't think I don't. And, I know you care for him, and I'm so glad for that. But, but you can't keep him under your wing forever. He's a grown man."

"I just want to make sure he's alright is all", Nick replied gruffly, watching his feet.

"Nick…"

All of sudden, he realized what was his mother's worry. She was afraid Heath could have enough of them and leave. That much his brother had grown in her heart. That much he had grown in all of their hearts, in such a short time. Their lives had changed since Heath had come. It was like he had filled a void. At the beginning, he had thought it was the void his father's death had left in their lives. But it wasn't just that. Heath completed them perfectly, he was the missing piece of the puzzle. But, at the same time, it was like he was something fragile in their hands, that they could easily break. They all secretly feared to see him go, sooner or later, just like he had come.

More moved than he liked to admit to himself, Nick took the hand still holding his wrist in his own big, work-worn hand. It was so small and perfect, just like her whole person was. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it. Then, he spoke softly, trying to soothe her. "Don't worry, Mother, I won't make him run away. I'll just take a look around and if everything's alright I'll leave him alone, I promise."

She nodded with a little smile of her own and he turned to leave.

"Nick!" she called.

"Yes, Mother?" Nick turned his head over his shoulder, his hand on the door knob. Victoria smiled, trying to hide her concern.

"Bring him home".

Nick nodded smiling back at her, trying to look confident, then turned and left.

"Look who's there, Barrett, the bastard himself, taking a nap", the voice said.

"Yeah. He's not better than us. He can diddle them all he wants up there in that high house, but to me he's just trash. I take my orders from Barkleys, not from a dead man's dirt. But, I have had it with him". The voice was rough, disgusted, rising in a crescendo.

"What do you have in mind, Barrett?"

"You'll see, Chad. We'll teach him who he exactly is" Barrett said, an evil smirk on his face.


	10. Chapter 10

"Heath! My God, what happened?" Leah cried out, hurrying toward her boy. She reached him and picked him up. He was drenched to the bone and covered in bruises. "What happened sweetheart?", she insisted. Heath had hidden his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, his little body trembling in her arms.

She brought her son inside the cabin, put him down in front of the fireplace and began to undress him drying his body with a towel. He wouldn't speak, letting her take care of him. He needed his mama to take care of him. She put a blanket on his shoulders to keep him warm.

Leah looked at her son. At eight years old, he was far beyond his age. But, right now, he looked just like the little boy he was. Leah and Hannah did the laundry for the hotel, but they were paid so poorly they wouldn't survive. After school Heath worked at the livery stable, and on the weekends he helped in the kitchen at the hotel while Leah served the tables. That day Martha had asked that him to stay and wash the dishes. Leah had reluctantly left him behind. She knew that wasn't right, but they needed the little he was able to gain.

Heath wouldn't look her in the eyes. He kept hearing his uncle's angry voice. The words he had thrown at him made him feel dirty inside.

Leah kneeled in front of him, put a hand under his chin and lifted his head, her worried eyes searching for answers. Those beautiful blue eyes, so like her Tom's were so serious. When had it been the last time she had heard him laugh?

"Who did this to you?" she asked softly. "Tell me my son."

Heath let out a shuddering sigh. He'd rather not tell, but had to answer when his mama asked him something. He'd never lie or hide anything to her. "Uncle Matt", he said quickly, then dropped his eyes again.

At the mention of her brother's name, Leah felt as if she was swelling inside with rage and indignation. How had he dared to touch her precious son?

"Oh Heath, I'm so sorry". Leah enveloped her little boy in her arms, holding him tight, his face pressed against her shoulder. How had so much hatred grown within her brother's heart, to the point of harming a little boy, his own nephew? Matt had beaten her more than once. She knew he was instigated by his wife, mostly. He had changed since he had married that awful woman. But this… Oh no not this. There were no excuses for such a vile act. She clenched her jaws tight and closed her eyes squeezing bitter tears past her lids. She'd make him pay for this.

She began to rub Heath's back. "Tell me what happened, Sweetheart", she whispered in his ear.

"He said I stole food from the kitchen, but I didn't mama I swear I didn't. But he said Aunt Martha had seen me. He grabbed me and…" Heath's voice broke and he began to sob. Leah was still holding him, still rubbing his back.

"Oh, Darling. It's over, now. I'm here and won't let anything happen to you. Never again. Now please Heath, tell me what else happened". She spoke reassuringly, fighting to take control over her anger and don't let it transpire in her voice. She needed to encourage her boy and make him talk. She wanted to know everything, anything that had happened to him. Matt had no idea of what she could do for her son. No idea.

"He said he'd show me what a little petty thief like me deserves. He dragged me to the river and then he… he tore off that branch from a tree and beat me. He was yelling at me… said a bastard like me wasn't worth living."

Leah's anger was growing at each word her boy was speaking. She thought she was going to explode. But she had to keep calm. Her son needed her now, needed her strength. She swallowed her tears. "Go on, Sweetheart. What happened then?"

Leah heard her son's voice say the unthinkable. "He grabbed me by my shirt and threw me into the river. He said I would've done you a favor if I'd drown, and that he wished my father had drowned too, before he… he… did what he did to you…". Heath couldn't speak anymore. He was openly crying now, his breath coming in little gulps, his entire body shaking.

Leah was still holding him, her hand gently rubbing his back, reassuringly. "Shhh… He was lying Sweetheart." Not a word of what he said is true. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me and I love you so much." Leah sighed. "You won't have to see that man again, Heath, I promise."

"But, mama, we need the money", the little, raspy voice came from her shoulder.

"Don't worry Sweetheart, I accepted Aunt Rachel's offer. She's the best seamstress in town and she's having so many requests she can't do it all by herself. And, I'm not that bad myself. You are done working my son, and that's final."

"But mama, I like my job at the livery." Heath's sobs had subdued. Leah couldn't help a little smile at her son's statement. Her boy sure loved horses. "You'll keep your job at the livery, then", she said conciliatorily.

Heath pulled away and looked at his mama. He sniffed back his tears, wiping the remaining moisture from his eyes with his hand, then looked at her seriously. "Mama, who is my father?", he asked.

Leah cupped his cheeks with both her hands. "He's the best man I have ever known", she replied with a loving smile. When she smiled like that, it was like a light spread from her eyes, enlightening her beautiful face. Every time it happened, Heath felt like a part of that light reached his heart, making him feel warm inside. He smiled back at her. For the moment, her answer was enough for him.

When Nick arrived at the barn, Jarrod was dismounting. He walked rapidly past his brother toward Coco's stall. "Afternoon, Counselor", he said nonchalantly, trying to avoid any other questioning, his need to find his younger brother growing by the minute.

Jarrod interjected his hurrying brother grabbing his arm.

"Wait a moment Nick, where are you going?"

"Heath went for a ride and I'm going to join him", Nick replied freeing himself from his brother's grasp with a quick tug.

"Maybe he wanted to be alone, for a change don't you think, Nick?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then, why didn't he ask you to join him from the beginning? He's a grown man, Nick."

"Now, Jarrod, have you been talking with Mother? I'm joining him whether he likes it or not."

"Tell me what's eating you, Nick?"

Nick was back at his task, putting the saddle on Coco's back. "I don't know Jarrod, I don't like him out there alone. It's been three hours and he should be back by now. Now, if you'll excuse me…", he said and mounted.

"I'm coming with you."

"Who am I to tell you not to", Nick said. He hadn't realized how much he needed his big brother's reassuring presence at his side. But, now he knew he did.

"I think I know where he'd go. Let's go", Jarrod said, resolutely.

When he opened his eyes at the freezing cold enveloping his whole body, he didn't know why he was there or what had happened. He was surrounded by the water. There was water below and there was water above. His eyes open wide with fear, he began to swim toward the surface, his lungs yearning for air. His movements were slow, too slow. He was weak, his mind beginning to be incoherent. This would have been his end.

There, alone, he would have died.

The surface was nearer now. But he hadn't anymore time.

When they arrived at the bridge, they found Heath's little black mare, but no traces of their brother. Nick dismounted and quickly approached the shore. He saw Heath's hat upside down on the grass and bent to grab it. It was then that he saw it: a blood-soaked branch. Then, blood on the grass. Too much blood on the grass.

He let go of the hat, turned toward the river and began to run.

"Hurry Jarrod", he cried out, the water already at his waist.

Running toward the river, his heart hammering in his chest, Jarrod saw his brother disappear under the surface.

He thought he was home, the familiar aroma coming from the kitchen where he knew Hannah was preparing his special chicken soup. He heard his stomach grumble in yearning, despite a stabbing headache. He managed to lift his heavy eyelids.

He was home, indeed, but not in Strawberry. He was home in his room at the Barkley Ranch.

The window was open, a light breeze coming in, and the room was full of light. In that light he saw her coming graciously toward him with a tray in her hands.

"Good morning, Heath, you must be hungry. Silas made his special chicken soup just for you, it will bring back your strength in no time. Would you make a try for me?"

"What… what happened?", Heath asked.

"Someone hit you hard on the head… with a branch", Victoria said disgusted, "Then they threw you into the river. Fortunately, Jarrod and Nick had come to join you and managed to pull you out."

"That's why my head seems to be ready to explode at any moment", he groaned, raising his hand, his fingers touching the bandage on his forehead.

"Doctor Merar said you need plenty of rest. You had a deep gash on your head, he stitched you but you lost a good amount of blood. Do you remember what happened, Heath? "

"No. I guess a was sleeping. I'm sorry for causing so much trouble."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Heath.

But those men… they'll be sorry when… if... Nick finds out who did this to you."

Heath couldn't help the little smile that tugged at his lips.

"It seems my sons are making a habit of nearly drowning...they must have inherited it from their father…", she added after a long pause, a graceful smile on her face. She laid the tray on the night table and sat on the edge of Heath's bed watching him intensely.

Heath's heart stopped. She had implicitly called him "son".

She reached out and caressed his face. "You look so much like him". All of sudden, to be like his father didn't seem such a bad thing to Heath. Contrarily, her words were making him feel proud. He blushed, then nodded, smiling shyly. "Yes, Ma'am", he said.

"Oh, now, we're going to have to do something about that. I've been many things to many people, but never "Ma'am. Now, let's put some nourishment into you", she said, resolutely.


	11. Chapter 11

Matt Simmons had always been weak with the strong and strong with the weak. He had felt weak and fragile many times in his past life. His "before Martha" life. He had been terrorized by his mother's husband – Leah's father – as well as by his own father. Now, he was terrorized by his own wife. On the other hand, he had found a way to take some satisfaction for himself. The abuses he perpetrated on his sister and nephew made him thrive. Their weakness, their fear, made him feel strong, powerful...a giant among men.

When Leah had aimed the gun at him he had laughed at first. Then Leah had pulled the trigger and the bullet had gone through the flesh of his arm and the old fear had come to the surface once again. He was terrorized. Again.

"This is for what you did to my son, you coward", Leah said icily then aimed again.

He fell on his knees trembling. With his right hand firmly gripping his left arm he looked up at this frightful woman that once had been his weak little sister and was now a menacing, dangerous woman. A dangerous woman with a gun aimed at him.

"Don't, little sister, please. I beg you… don't do it again. It hurts too much." Matt was openly crying, now.

Leah was nauseated. How could this man be her brother? She had more courage in her little finger.

"Don't call me that. You're not my brother. Not anymore. I don't know if you've ever been. Now Matt I want you to understand something very clearly, you stay away from Heath. If I even suspect you've been around my son, I'll come back and finish what I have started today. I promise that, Matt." She was still keeping him under her aim, her hand never wavering.

The man nodded furiously. "Yes, yes, yes, but don't shoot", he managed to stutter, unable to speak properly, unable to look her in the eyes, overwhelmed by his old friend, the terror of any human being who could hurt him in any way.

Leah nodded as well, slowly. "You're lucky I don't kill you, Matt". Her cold gaze lingered on him for a whole more minute. Then, she turned and left.

Rachel was waiting for her around the corner. Leah gave the gun, which belonged to Rachel's husband, back to her. "I'm proud of you, girl", the older woman said.

Leah smiled broadly, almost wildly. Her eyes sparkled. "Good riddance to bad rubbish!", she said and laughed.

Heath was at the window. Hannah was behind him, both hands on his shoulders. They saw Rachel and Leah come, arm in arm. The way they were walking, their smiling faces, said it all. Heath looked up at Hannah, expectantly. She smiled at him and nodded.

Heath flew out of the door running toward his mother. When he reached her, she bent and they looked deep into each other's eyes. She looked so different, the light in her eyes was more intense, her smile brighter. She picked him up. They held each other tightly. "I love you, sweetheart", Leah said. "I love you too, mama", Heath replied, proudly.

There, in the warmth of his mother's embrace, Heath felt safe.

"Gene!" Audra launched herself from the last step of the staircase, directly into her brother's arms.

"You're home!", she said, delighted.

Eugene dropped his luggage just in time to receive his sister's exuberant embrace. "Audra!" He hugged her laughing, more glad for her enthusiastic welcome than he would admit.

Once they parted, an arm around her waist, he answered her question. "I couldn't wait any longer to meet this new brother of ours. Judging from the letters I received, he must be quite a man".

Audra giggled. "He is Gene, you'll see. I'm sure you'll like him. He's resting right now, and Mother said he wasn't to be disturbed."

"Yes, Jarrod wired me about the accident".

"It wasn't an accident. It was an attempted murder". Jarrod's deep voice was coming from behind them.

"Well said Counselor", Nick agreed. "Someone has deliberately tried to kill him, and I'm going to find who did it", he added.

Hearing Jarrod and Nick's voices, Eugene turned with a broad smile. "Nick, Jarrod!" He shook first Nick's and then Jarrod's hands.

"Gene! Gene, darling, how nice to see you!" Victoria walked in and approached her youngest son. He kissed her on her cheek. "Hello, Mother."

"Heath is awake, he'll be glad to meet you, Gene", she said confidently, taking his hand and leading him toward the staircase.

Eugene was sitting in an armchair, next to Heath's bed. He had finally had the chance to know this new brother and understood why everyone was so found of him. He had insisted on keeping him company through the night.

Heath was peacefully sleeping and, as the minutes passed by, Eugene closed his eyes and soon was teetering on the edge between sleep and wakefulness. Images, memories, sounds were unfolding in front of his mind's eye. He was slowly drifting into a deeper sleep when he heard someone murmuring. Uncertain whether the sound was coming from his own dream or not, Eugene struggled against the grip of sleep and forced his eyes open. He realized it was coming from Heath. He leaned forward, but it was impossible to understand what Heath was saying. He reached out and put his hand on Heath's forehead. It was cold and wet. Heath was growing increasingly agitated, his head moving fast from side to side. His voice was louder, now.

Eugene bent over Heath's face until his ear was almost touching his new brother's lips. Now he could distinguish a few words. Heath was remembering something, someone.

Then, he heard a name. It was a familiar name.

Eugene quickly stood and rushed out of Heath's room. Nick's room was just across the corridor.

Barrett had always been weak with the strong and strong with the weak. Heath was unsure, haunted by his past, unused to giving orders. With him, he had found his perfect victim and was going to have fun "playing" with him. It had been fun. He knew the bastard would have never asked for help, he was too proud. Proud of what, was beyond him.

Nick had told them from the beginning that Heath was a Barkley and as a Barkley he was in charge. He had said they had to obey his orders and that those who had something against it, could collect their pay and leave. Some of the men had effectively gone. Not Barrett. He had stayed. It was apparent Nick didn't believe his own words.

But one day, all of sudden, Nick had unexpectedly changed his attitude. He seemed to enjoy the bastard's company and they had started to act like real brothers. They worked together, riding side by side, talking nonstop - well, maybe Nick was the one talking nonstop - joking and laughing. Nick had started to discuss with the bastard the decisions to be taken about the ranch. If that didn't beat all, he didn't know what did.

Not at all discouraged, Barrett hadn't missed any chance to belittle Heath in front of the men. But the bastard had ignored his insults. He seemed to have the patience of a saint. Until he had found his Achilles' heel; his mother. Once he had started to insult her instead of him, Heath had seen red. More than once they had come to blows. He had to admit the boy had guts and, above all, knew how to throw a good punch.

Last time, the bastard had left him unconscious on the floor. That had been the last straw. Barrett had decided for a radical approach. The Barkleys would have been grateful. Hell, the world would have been grateful. So, he had just waited for his occasion. Also Barrett could be patient if need be. And, as a reward for his patience, he had caught the bastard while he was sleeping. Even if he had suddenly opened his eyes wide and stared at him just a second before he hit him Barrett doubted he could remember anything. He had hit hard, very hard. Barrett's plan had been half successful. Unfortunately, the bastard's "brothers" had saved his life. This time.

When Nick Barkley made his appearance in the bunkhouse that night, Barrett froze. That man scared him. He had that look in his eyes... a way to make you feel little, weak… guilty. And he was guilty, indeed. Barrett lowered his gaze to his card game trying to go unnoticed.

But Nick Barkley didn't even look in his direction. With his usual confidence, he walked resolutely toward his foreman. "McColl, can I have a word with you in private?"

"Sure thing, boss", the older man replied.

"Outside."

Barrett sighed in relief.

When they stepped outside, McColl was surprised to find the oldest and youngest Barkleys waiting for them.

"Duke, my brothers and I need to have a few words with Barrett. You send him here and keep the rest of the men inside, it's a family matter", Nick said.

"Is it about Heath? You don't think…"

"We don't think, Duke, we know", Jarrod said. "Heath talks in his sleep and Gene here heard Barrett's name directly from his lips."

"Alright boys, I'll be glad to help, then. I'll be inside if you need me."

"Thanks Duke", Nick said.

After a few moments, a terrorized Barrett walked out and toward them. All three of Tom Barkley's legitimate sons were waiting for him. If he could have, Barrett would have run away right then. But there was no way to avoid a confrontation.

As he approached, all three raised their guns, aiming at him.

"Now boys, put those guns away, will you? I'm unarmed."

"Oh, yes? And say, how was Heath when you surprised him in his sleep?", Eugene asked, disgusted.

All three came closer, their guns still in their hands. Barrett stepped backward, his hands raised with the palms toward them, as if trying to stop them, an uncertain smile on his face. "Come on boys. I don't know what you are thinking, but you got the wrong guy".

"Barrett, how long have you been working for us?", Nick asked, a deadly look in his eyes.

"Three years."

"Three years, and you still don't know how to address your bosses?"

"No, Sir… I mean, yes, Sir…" Under Nick's icy stare, Barrett was feeling very little.

"Barrett, we know you're lying", Jarrod intervened. "You are a coward and we despise you, but we are reasonable men and won't hurt you if we can avoid it. I suggest you pack your things and run away from this ranch and this valley as fast as you can before we change our minds. You got it?", Jarrod said coldly.

Barrett thought Jarrod was scary, too. They all were deadly scary. He made another step backward.

"Yes Sir, I got it, Sir." He turned on his heels and began to move toward the bunkhouse when a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

"Barrett, wait a minute", Nick's best intimidating voice echoed in his ears. That was one voice that sent shivers down Barrett's spine. He turned to see Nick Barkley's fist coming full force. As a blinding pain pervaded him, he could clearly hear the crack in his nose.

He hadn't fully realized what had happened when Nick's other fist came from his right and hit his cheekbone, splitting his skin open. Quickly after, a powerful blow hit him in the stomach taking his breath away and making him bend.

Before he could fall, Nick grabbed a handful of his shirt with one hand and grinned, speaking calmly, almost softly, very close to his face: "I should kill you right now for what you did to my brother, Barrett. You have no idea of how lucky you are". With the other hand, he delivered one final punch to his jaw. Barrett felt it painfully slide sideways. He wondered if it was dislocated.

That was his last conscious thought.


	12. Chapter 12

When he opened his eyes, Heath saw Audra sitting on an armchair next to his bed. In the dim light of the early morning, a sunbeam was playing in her hair and on a side of her face. She seemed to be glowing. He marveled at how beautiful his sister was.

"Good morning, Heath! This arrived yesterday, it's for you", she said cheerfully, her smile forming cute dimples on both her cheeks. She stood and put the book she was reading face down on the armchair, then went closer to him, put a hand on his arm the other one handing out an envelope.

"It's from Strawberry", she said expectantly, waiting for a reaction. He took the letter from her hand. He couldn't recognize the handwriting. Strawberry… Heath's heart lost a beat. What had happened? No, not now. He put his fear aside, he'd think about that later. Now, he just wanted to enjoy his little sister's company. He laid the letter on the night table and said nothing.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly.

Again, Heath marveled at how caring she was. He sat up in his bed and realized his headache had subdued. "I'm fine" he said with a smile.

Her hand still on his arm resigned to the fact he wouldn't say anything about the letter he had received, Audra sat down beside him.

"I'm glad you came, Heath", she said. She tilted her head, taking in his features. "You look so much like Father", she added.

Heath nodded at her statement. "So I've been told." He lowered his gaze, watching his hands.

"What was it like?", he asked after a while, his eyes back into his sister's, the two pairs of blue eyes searching intensely into each other's depth.

"What was what like?"

"To be his daughter?"

"Oh it was wonderful. I felt so loved and protected. I loved him very much. Everybody loved him. A thousand people came from the valley to bury him. He was that kind of man. He was special Heath just like you are", she replied her eyes dancing with merriment, with love for the father she had lost, with love for the brother she had gained.

Heath was drinking her every word. His shy, crooked smile appeared on his face, but right after it disappeared, as he dropped his eyes. "It's strange how you can miss something you never had", he murmured.

"Oh Heath, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry".

Heath saw tears in Audra's eyes. Once again he marveled at the fact that those tears were there for him. He felt tears welling in his eyes as well. "I was so lucky you all accepted me", he said softly.

"Oh, Heath. You have every right to be here with us, with your family".

"Audra, I have no rights. Bastards have no rights", he said without a second thought. That was a matter of fact.

"Don't say that. Don't say that word", Audra retorted, outraged.

Heath couldn't help but feel a pang of the old anger grow inside. He had said nothing but the truth. Why couldn't they understand? All of them, they all thought he had grown up there with them. Audra didn't know what it meant to be the child he had been. He could actually see what her childhood had been like. Oh yes he could. She had lived all her life in this beautiful house with both her parents, with THEIR father taking care of her. He had never had a father to love him, to protect him when his uncle beat him, to avoid him the pain of taking part in a war that was beyond what he could ever imagine. To rescue him from Carterson. He had had a father like everybody else but that father had never taken care of him. He was a bastard, and she had to come to terms with that. They all had to. If they wanted him to be part of them, they had to accept him for what he was.

He spoke harshly. "Why not? That's what I am. That's what I'll always be. It's something you're born with. It's something you're raised with. It's something you can never forget because there will always be someone to remind you, to show you what your place is. This…" He looked around the room. "All this won't last".

Two big tears were now rolling down Audra's cheeks. Heath's heart broke. "I'm sorry, Audra. I… I didn't mean", he said contritely. How could he hurt this girl, the little sister who had shown him nothing but love and acceptance from the very beginning? This female part of himself. Audra Barkley, so proud, so brave at times, yet sweet and compassionate. Oh, did he love her. He'd do anything for her, anything. He wished he could take back his words. But, it was too late.

Audra sniffed back her tears, wiping away the remnants with the back of her hand. She straightened her back, in a gesture he was going to get used to. "You know what, Heath? You're wrong. You're wrong because that's not what you are, that's what they call you. But I don't believe them and you shouldn't, either".

"Is that what Barrett did? He reminded you of what you think you are?" Nick's voice startled them. He was leaning against the door jamb, his arms folded. He had evidently listened to a good part of their conversation. He walked in and approached the bed.

Audra stood. "I need to talk to Mother about my birthday party", she said, and quickly left, trying not to show how upset she really was.

Nick sat in the same place Audra had left vacant. Just like her, he put a hand on Heath's arm. He spoke softly. "You won't have to worry about Barrett anymore, Heath", he said with a smile.

"Barrett? Why?"

"Oh, nothing, we had a little talk with him".

"We… who?"

"Jarrod, Eugene and myself."

"What happened?" Heath asked, confused.

Nick bent to be closer to him, suddenly serious and lowered his voice looking him in the eye, "Gene heard you talk in your sleep, Heath. Barrett was the one who beat you and threw you in the river", he explained.

Heath kept silent for a few minutes. He shook his head in disbelief. "I knew he didn't like me, but not to the point of…" The rest of the sentence died on his lips. The disbelief rapidly turned into bitterness. His inner shadowy thoughts were back there. Hadn't he learned anything yet? This was what was always happening, wherever he was. He was cursed.

He looked up at his brother. "Nick, I can take care of myself, I told you that".

Nick smiled. "Well, judging from the bandage on your head, little brother, you can use a little help from time to time", he said, raising his hand to touch lightly his brother's forehead. "Does it hurt?"

Heath slapped Nick's hand away, amused despite himself. "It's not that bad. Nick, don't think I'm not grateful for you caring about me because I am. But you can't stop it, it'll always be like that. I'll always be what I am".

"Is that a fact? And what exactly would that be?", Nick asked in a teasing tone.

"You know what I am, Nick". Heath's tone wasn't teasing. He was damn serious.

Nick frowned, suddenly serious as well. "I don't care WHAT you are, Heath. I know WHO you are. You are Heath Barkley, you are my brother and that's all that matters".

Heath shook his head. He sighed, the harshness of his past life still lingering in the corner of his mind, poisoning him from inside. "Don't you see, Nick? It's been a month, nothing has changed. It will never change, they'll never accept someone like me living in this house. They'll never accept someone like me giving them orders. And I won't have you or Jarrod or Gene or all three of you together watching my back all the time".

Nick's frown deepened. "We'll make it change. I'll take care of that personally". Nick's tone was determined. He looked into Heath's eyes, searching. He didn't like what he saw there. They were cold, unreadable. Nick shivered inwardly, wondering what his brother was really thinking.

"Now you just rest and heal little brother". Nick paused. "I need you back by my side", he added. These last words came out in a strangely sad, weak tone that surprised himself, first.

Heath's knees nudged the little mare's flanks. He dropped the reins down a bit to unbridle her head and leaned forward above her mane. They were like one, and they were flying.

When he had seen the train, he had thought about his father. He had died fighting against the railroad. The train whistle had blown, challenging him.

Now, he was racing the train.

Just before they crossed the railway right in front the locomotive the whistle blew again.

They had won.

This time.

Heath pulled the reins making her slow down. She was sweating, breathing hard, her nostrils trembling. He leaned forward and patted her neck. "You're a runner my little friend. You beat the iron monster". He gave a little laugh, took a look around.

They were on the top of a hill and he could see the valley below. The valley that had been his home for the past month. The best month of his life. He had so wished it could last longer. A wrenching pain overflowed inside him, welled up in his heart. A little gulp escaped his lips.

But, this was the right thing to do for everyone's sake.

The letter he was keeping in his shirt pocket was burning his skin.

The questions were too many and he had no answers. What would happen he didn't know yet.

Before he could change his mind, he made his horse turn and spurred her to a gallop.


	13. Chapter 13

Once he was alone again, Heath pulled out a folded sheet of paper and unfolded it with trembling hands. A paperclip slipped out. He picked it up and his fear rapidly turned into pain.

" **SEAMSTRESS FOUND DEAD AT THE BOTTOM OF A MINE SHAFT** ", the title said. He was hardly able to distinguish the letters, as the tears welled in his eyes. The article said that the woman had been found dead with no evidence of any crime and that the case had been dismissed as death by accidental cause. There was even a little picture. Heath caressed the beloved face with his fingers. Aunt Rachel wasn't his real aunt; she had been his mother's best friend and a blessing in their lives. She was a wise, strong-willed woman. She was part of their little family, and he had loved her.

And now she was dead. What was she doing in that mine? Something just wasn't right.

Hannah must have sent the letter, along with the paperclip, after Aunt Rachel's death. The handwriting on the envelope probably belonged to the post office clerk, as Hannah couldn't read, or write. It simply said "Heath Barkley, The Barkley Ranch, Stockton, CA". A short-lived smile passed on his lips at the thought of Hannah asking the clerk to write the address.

Heath put down the paperclip and glanced at the letter which had contained it. Aunt Rachel's neat handwriting filled both sides of the sheet.

He sighed painfully. As he began reading, he actually heard Aunt Rachel's loving voice pronounce the words.

"My dearest Heath,

First of all, I need to warn you. The Simmons, somehow have come to know where you are. They knew your father and know everything about the Barkleys. They came to Hannah and me. They said they'd ask your father's family compensation for what they have done for you and your mother. That makes me laugh and I told them. We know all too well what they have done. I told them I wouldn't allow anything like that.

But oh Heath, Hannah's so scared. They caught her alone and threatened her. They are evil people Heath, and they are dangerous. Martha sends shivers down my spine. I'm seriously afraid she has definitely lost the little sanity she still had.

I'll go to the hotel, this afternoon and make clear they don't have any right to ask your family for any money and to leave Hannah alone. I'm certainly not afraid to give them a piece of my mind. I already did in the past, and your mother… Well, I don't think Matt will ever forget what your mother did. He's scared of me, and rightly so. I still have my late husband's gun and I'll use it if need be.

And now, let me tell you how happy I am for you my child that you found your father's family and that they accepted you. We both are, Hannah and me. You have finally found the happiness you've been looking for all your life. Life wasn't fair to you now you take your share of joy. Take the share of love you deserve. You'll be loved, I'm sure. They'll love you for who you are.

I have had the privilege to know Tom Barkley when he came to Strawberry. Your mother didn't lie to you when she said he was the best men she had ever known. He was a great man. He had courage, pride and leadership. And you are so much like him.

He made a mistake when he fell for her, but I'm telling you he couldn't avoid that. She was so easy to love, too easy to love. And love her he did. Forgive him his weakness, Heath. He never knew about you. Leah never told him. Your mother never stopped loving him; she did her whole life, till her last breath.

Now, you need to forget about the past and embrace your future. Be proud, for you have a right to be proud. Accept your family without fear; open up your heart to the love they have to give you. You are taking what is rightly yours.

Love, always

Aunt Rachel".

By the moment his eyes had reached the end of the letter, Heath had willingly surrendered and embraced the pain of his loss. He couldn't believe she had gone. It was like she knew exactly how he was feeling at the moment. Every word she had written seemed to be seized on his present feelings. Oh, she knew him so well.

One drop fell down on the letter, right on the word "Simmons". The ink blurred. He passed his fingertip on it and the word disappeared, leaving just a stain. How he wished it was as easy to make the real Simmons disappear from his life.

When the rider came near enough to be recognized, Jarrod couldn't believe his eyes. From the Barkleys' private car window, he was actually watching his brother Heath race the train. His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

With his heart slamming in his chest, he passed through another car, and then another, trying not to lose sight of him. The other passengers were on their feet shouting, inciting.

Jarrod arrived at the last car and went outside. The world seemed to stop as, like in a slow motion, he watched his brother cross the railway in front of the locomotive… just in time. He watched him spur his horse and gallop away.

Once back in his car, still bewildered, Jarrod let himself drop into his seat. He was finding it hard to breathe. What on earth did that mean? It was like Heath was challenging his destiny to a mortal duel.

It was like his brother had nothing to lose.

Nick and Heath walked into the house, both very dirty. Heath watched his tired brother get rid of the dust vigorously slapping both hands on his pants, causing it to fall on their mother's carpet. He smiled amused at the scolding he was already seeing come.

Nick was no longer trying to keep him under control, and their relationship was now more relaxed, much like a relationship between brothers should be. This had had the effect to strengthen their bond. No one who saw them together could ever imagine they had known each other just a few months. Heath, first, felt like they had always known each other, like he had found a long time lost part of himself.

Since Barrett had left, even the ranch hands seemed to have accepted him, and Heath was feeling growingly confident about himself and his role on the ranch and in the family.

He hadn't forgotten about the letter. He had in mind to go soon to Strawberry, to check on Hannah and make sure his uncle and aunt stayed away from the old woman. He couldn't shake off the bad feeling they had something to do with Aunt Rachel's death.

But the cattle drive was around the corner. He couldn't leave, not now. Nick needed him. Not that his brother had told him anything, but he could just feel it, and it felt good.

"I'll see you at dinner, Nick, I need a bath", Heath said.

"Yeah, I think you could use one", Nick smirked, patting Heath's back, causing more dust to rise up and land on the floor.

"You don't smell like flowers yourself, big brother", Heath retorted. Nick's loud laugh followed him upstairs.

The front door flung open and a blonde hurricane stormed straight upstairs. Victoria, who was coming out of the kitchen that very moment, a disgusted expression on her face at the sight of the dirt her son had brought in her foyer, felt her words die on her lips.

She joined Nick. Their astonished eyes raised up toward the second floor and they jumped as they heard the door to Audra's room slam shut. They looked into each other's eyes, alarmed. Nick began to move but his mother's small hand on his arm stopped him. "I'll go, Nicholas", Victoria said. Nick nodded.

When she was midway upstairs, Victoria turned and called her son's name.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Take a bath".

"Yes, Mother" .

When a fresh bathed Nick entered the study about one hour later , there were no more traces of the dusty cowboy who had walked into the house earlier. He looked less tired, although he couldn't hide his concern. He went to the liquor tray and helped himself.

He turned at the sound of Victoria's steps. She was visibly shaken, and let herself drop on the settee.

"How is she?" Nick asked, pouring some sherry and handing it to her.

"She's very upset, Nick. She cried herself to sleep. I don't think we'll have the pleasure of her company at dinner".

Nick frowned. "What happened?"

Victoria sighed. "More defections of her birthday party".

Nick slammed his hand against his thigh in frustration. How could some people be so narrow-minded was beyond him. "Heath?", he asked, knowing the answer already.

"I'm afraid he is the reason. I thought it would change over time, but it's becoming more and more difficult every day. Sometimes I wish…" Victoria couldn't finish the sentence. The last words she had spoken had sounded weak, with that little cry in her voice she couldn't help when she was very emotional. Victoria's eyes, bright with unshed tears, turned to Tom Barkley's portrait.

Nick frowned. "You wish what, Mother? That Heath had never come?"

 _Outside, Heath removed his hand from the doorknob. His heart had dropped at the meaning of the words he had just heard. The world around him was crumbling down, the ground opening beneath his feet. He fought to regain control, then turned on his heels toward the staircase. His legs were weak, as if they didn't belong to him, and he grabbed the banister for support. He slowly climbed the stairs, back to his room._

 _Silas, who was coming, unnoticed, out of the kitchen and had observed the scene, shook his head and continued toward the dining room._

"Oh, Nick, how can you think that? I just wish your father was here to handle things. I feel so helpless… I can't stand all this suffering. I'm sorry for Audra, but Heath's the one who paying the highest price".

Nick glanced at his father portrait as well, resisting the urge to throw the glass he had in his hand at him. The man he had worshiped his whole life had failed them all so badly. "I can't forgive Father for what he did to us… to him", he hissed with anger.

Nick's words hurt like a knife in Victoria's heart. She spoke with passion, defending the husband she still loved, the man she missed every day. "He was an imperfect man, your father, in so many ways that could hurt. But he never destroyed, only built and gave life".

Nick shook his head. "Is what he could have done but didn't, Mother. Why wasn't he there for Heath, like he was for the rest of us? The way Heath was raised without guidance, without a father, without him…", Nick raised his glass toward the portrait, then gulped down his whiskey. He closed his eyes for a moment. There wasn't anger in his next words, just sadness. "Now it seems all forgotten, but when he was recovering, Heath kept saying those senseless things about what he is and about those things that will never change… He scared me, and Audra. I don't want to lose him, Mother".

Victoria raised her hand to tenderly touch the side of Nick's face. She was deeply moved by her gruff son's words of affection. Nick had a heart of gold, but didn't often openly talk about his feelings. "Oh, Nick, I don't want to lose him either. No mother wants to lose her own child".

Heath was in his room, his back against the closed door, breathing hard. He had to calm down and think. He had to decide what to do. He still couldn't believe what his ears had heard. Mrs. Barkley had said she wished he had never come. His heart sunk at the realization of how easily he had slipped back to "Mrs. Barkley". He had grown to love her like she was his true mother and was so proud to call her such, the same way all of her children did.

Heath let himself slide toward the floor and sat there, his head in his hands. He had been so sure they all reciprocated his feelings… But now, he had no more certainties.

He couldn't blame them, though. The Barkleys had lost some of their friends because of him, lifetime friends. Audra, his little sister, was hurting bad, and it was all his fault. He couldn't close his eyes not to see what he didn't like. He could no longer pretend everything was alright.

He was ruining their lives, that's what he was doing to them.

They say, when you love someone, sometimes you have to let them go. He felt like drowning in the sea of pain that overflowed from his heart, overwhelming his whole being, at the mere thought of losing them. His every cell was screaming "no!". But, did he really have a choice?

He wiped his tears away with his shirt sleeve: now that he had made a decision, his breath evened and his heart slowed. Like many other times in his life, he raised a wall between himself and his emotions. He just had to do the right thing.

Nick was beside himself with worry. He was beside himself with anger. Silas had told them what he had seen. Now, for a damn stupid misunderstanding, Heath had left. He had thrown away all that they had built.

That boy still had to learn what being part of a family was. He still had to learn what being part of THEIR family was. They stuck together, no matter what.

Nick was worried beyond words. He was angry beyond words. He was riding hard, he had been riding for hours, and wouldn't stop until he'd find Heath and bring him home, even if he had to knock some sense into his brother's thick skull the old-fashioned way.


	14. Chapter 14

_Heath was running. He didn't feel his legs, didn't feel his feet. He didn't feel the exertion. He didn't feel anything but the need to run, the need to hide._

 _But there was no place to hide._

 _He stopped his back on a tree, sweating, breathing hard. He heard a rumble and looked up at the dark, clouded sky. The rumble blew up in a deafening thunder and the blinding flash of the lightning wounded his eyes._

 _The sky cracked open and the rain poured down on his face plastering his hair on his forehead. He closed his eyes and let it flow on him, through him, soaking his ragged clothes, his ragged soul._

 _With his eyes still closed, he thought about the men he had shot, the men he had killed. He didn't know who they were but knew they were somebody's sons, as he was. He was sorry. He had been sorry too many times during the past months for all the men he had seen fall, on both sides._

 _He let himself slide toward the ground and sat, his knees up. He dropped his rifle and with a trembling hand he reached inside the pocket of his blue coat and pulled out his mama's picture. He held it in front of his eyes blinking, letting the rain fall down on it, letting his tears fall down as well._

 _He knew the men in gray would soon arrive. He knew that, among them, many were boys doing what someone told them to do just like him. He had seen his same fear in those eyes, his same hurt._

 _But they were here for him already. There was no escape, there was no return._

 _He raised his open hands in surrender. His mama's picture fell down from his fingers twirling like a feather on the muddy ground. A breath of wind blew it away._

 _Heath's life was blowing away._

The young man was on his knees his hat in his hand. With the other hand he reached out and his fingers traced the name carved on the headstone.

 _Leah Thomson_

 _Born – 1830_

 _Died – 1872_

Nick had never stopped to really think about the actual meaning of praying. Of course he went to church with the rest of the family on Sundays and for other occasions.

He hardly remembered that dreadful day except for what he could recall about his father's funeral, he wasn't really praying. He was mourning, his thoughts were dark and confused.

He had never felt the real need to pray. Until now.

He closed his eyes and thought about what Heath had told him about this woman, the woman his father had fallen for. If there was a Heaven he had no doubt it was there, that she was. She had been a lovely, devoted mother to Heath and an honest woman who had made just one mistake, and for that one mistake he was grateful.

It wasn't easy, not for him, to express in words what he wanted to say. He knew in his heart, but to say it was another story. Not that he wasn't a talkative man, on the contrary, but he seldom talked about his feelings.

Eventually, some words formed in his mind and he spoke them in barely a whisper. "Hello, Miss Leah. My name is Nick, Nick Barkley. I came here looking for your son, Heath". Nick paused. "I came looking for your son, my brother Heath", he corrected.

"All I want to do is to bring him home where he belongs". Nick paused again, trying to find the right words to say what he had in mind, and in his heart. "Life hasn't been fair to him, I know that. God only knows how much he's been hurt. But we didn't know, Miss Leah, didn't know about him. He thinks of himself as a burden for us but he's wrong, dead wrong. He's a wish granted. Mother… My mother says he's a gift to us from our father and yourself. He's part of us, we love him and we need him just as much as he needs us".

Nick smiled sadly. "Your son is a fine man and I'm proud to call him brother. Now, Miss Leah, I could really use a little help from there up above, if you can intercede for me". Nick kept silent for a further couple of minutes, trying to keep back the tears that were burning in the back of his eyes, the tears his own words were threatening to bring to the surface.

Once he was sure enough he could talk again, Nick nodded. "Miss Leah, you have my word I will do everything I can to never let anybody hurt him again ".

Nick put his hat back on his head. While standing back up on his feet, he heard the sound of a slow, derisive clapping coming from behind quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked back, very close.

Nick froze, as something hard pressed against his back.

"Very touching", a mocking voice said. That was a voice Nick knew all too well. "Now don't waste my time and move, Barkley, if you don't want my bullet to open the third eye on the back of your head", the voice said. He didn't need to turn to know who was there.

"Barrett, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, Boss, if you care to know, I followed your precious so-called brother all the way from Stockton, but he disappeared, he just vanished into thin air. Now, if you plan to live through the next minute unbuckle your gun belt, drop it and raise your hands over your head."

Nick did as instructed. "What do you want from him… from us?", Nick said in his best intimidating voice, but with poor results this time.

"Oh, I think you know that. My first attempt failed, but I'm a man of faith".

Nick's rage was easily ignited, as always. Like a high tide it raised inside him and washed away any other feeling. "I'm warning you, Barrett, you just signed your own death warrant", Nick growled beneath clenched teeth.

Barrett laughed coarsely, then hit Nick on the back of his head with the butt of his gun. Nick fell on his side, groaning and curling up. "How does this feel, SIR? Now stand up and move!"

Nick managed to stand. Barrett shoved him. They arrived at a wooden cabin surrounded by a little garden.

Inside the cabin, he saw an old black woman lying down on the floor, unmoving. "What have you done, Barrett?" Nick asked, as he quickly crouched by the woman, putting his fingertips on her throat in search of a pulse.

Barret kicked him viciously in the flank and Nick fell beside the woman. He had felt a weak beat: the woman was still alive. He assumed the woman had to be Hannah, Heath's mother's friend. Nick closed his eyes in pain, feeling helpless. "I told you Barrett, I'll kill you", Nick was able to say with the little strength he had left.

"Now don't fret Barkley, and make yourself comfortable. We just have to wait. I'm sure the bastard will come back soon enough, then we'll have some fun". He sat on a chair, his gun aiming at them.

Too often Nick had been accused of acting before thinking. As Heath had once told him, sometimes he got mad and did things he was later sorry for. This time he needed to think and plan. The last thing he needed was to be injured, or worse.

He took a look around. This was his brother's childhood house. It was small and with little furniture, but many little details made it somehow homey; embroidered curtains, a vase with fresh flowers, a rocking chair in front of the fireplace, a little bookshelf full of books. It warmed his heart to see a framed picture of a very beautiful woman holding a blond little child with a lopsided smile in her arms. They might have been poor, but the little house instilled a feeling of warmth and memories of happy moments. It was tangible.

Despite the circumstances, Nick smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

_Heath didn't feel his legs, didn't feel his feet. He didn't feel his exertion. He didn't feel anything but the need to run, the need to hide. He stopped, his back on a tree, sweating, breathing hard._

 _With his eyes closed, he thought about the man he was running from, the man who was able to awaken his most hidden fears. He let himself slid toward the ground and sat, his knees up._

 _The man known as Matt Simmons had caught him by his mama's grave._

"So you're back".

Heath was kneeling, his thoughts on the one woman who had never failed him, the one person whose love he had never doubted. He felt a raw anger build inside at the hateful voice, and fought to keep it under control. Aunt Rachel's death cried out for justice, and he had in mind to get to the bottom of what had happened. But not now, not here, not on his mama's grave.

He slowly stood and turned to face his uncle. "What do you want, Simmons?" he asked. He hadn't called him "uncle" since he was eight years old.

"What do I want? I want to finish what I started. You know it, boy. You should have drowned in the river that day. Not even your own father wanted you".

"But I didn't, and I won't. And don't name my father".

"Why not, I knew him, unlike you. And I hear you settled down with them, didn't you? With his widow and his real children. Do they know you came here?"

"This is not of your concern, Simmons. You won't get anything from me or them. Now, tell me, what happened to Aunt Rachel?"

Matt stiffened. "You better know your place, boy. You're not the one asking questions, here. That woman didn't know her place and it cost her her life".

Heath's hand went for his gun. The man's words were all the evidence he needed.

"She was just an old woman, Simmons, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"I'll teach you respect, boy. You're biting the hand that fed you and you'll pay for that. Leah is not here to protect you, this time. You're all alone".

Heath extracted his gun and aimed at the man. "You're not even worthy to mention her name, Simmons. And guess what? I'm not a child anymore", he said coldly.

"You are not worthy living, Heath Thomson", the man said, walking toward him, stopping when he was just a few inches from him.

"My name is Heath Barkley", Heath said, each word like an icy needle, his eyes fixed in the void of his uncle's orbs. He cocked his gun.

Matt froze at the sound. He made a step backward.

"You won't hurt your uncle", he said.

"You ceased to be my uncle a long time ago. You're nothing to me, Simmons, and I'll do it if I have to".

He hadn't finished to speak those words yet, that something hit him on the back of his head. He fell on the ground, senseless.

"What are you doing here, Phelps?" Matt asked, without looking at other man, his eyes fixed on his nephew. "The boy is mine, and you have no right…"

"He knows about Rachel, I heard everything. I have all the rights, since I helped you after what you have done".

"You know well as I know that that was all Martha's doing".

"Yeah, and she's the only reason I helped you. She's the only thing that keeps me tied to this town. She's too much woman for you".

"Maybe, but she won't exchange one failure for another". Matt raised his head and looked the man in the eye. "Now, clear out".

Phelps said nothing. He let out a little, ironic laugh, then turned and went away. Matt watched him disappear. He had no time to think about his wife's lover, at the moment. He had more important things to look after. This little bastard, to name one. Matt bent and took Heath's gun from his hand. He dropped it on the ground, it was of no use.

When he opened his eyes at the pain of Matt's boot in his ribs, Heath realized his uncle was brandishing a branch. A paralyzing terror gripped his heart. He couldn't move, frozen in place.

Heath was a young, strong and healthy man, perfectly capable of self defense. He had proven his courage, strength and agility many times. And, he was a deadly shot. But, he was nothing like that anymore: at the sight of Matt Simmons brandishing that branch, he instantly traveled back in time, at the time he was a helpless eight years child, almost dead with fear. Too many times he had been hit; too many times he had been hurt. Too many times he had been abused.

Matt grabbed Heath by his shirt collar and pulled him upright. "Move", he said, hitting him with the branch and shoving him.

Heath knew where they were going. It was happening all over again, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"You let my boy be, Matt", Hannah voice came from behind Matt.

Matt let go of Heath's shirt and turned. Hannah had a gun in her hand and was aiming it at him, just like one day Leah had done.

But, Leah had been a young, strong woman. Hannah's hand was trembling, her voice was weak. An evil smirk on his face, Matt walked toward her brandishing the same branch he had been using on Heath.

"Run Heath, run!" Hannah cried out.

And run Heath did.

He didn't know anything anymore, just that his uncle would kill him, if he didn't run.

After Rachel Caulfield's premature death, Hannah had inherited all her belongings, Rachel's late husband's gun included, the very same gun that had already bit Matt's flesh.

Hannah was an old woman, she was ready to meet her maker whenever he called her. Her memory… her memory was now often faltering, but she hadn't forgotten her boy, the boy she had helped raise, her Heath. She had been so pleased to see him again. He had come to visit Miss Leah's grave and she was proud of the way she had taken care of it. She had kept it clean and brought fresh flowers every day. Leah had been so dear to her… But she had died, and Rachel had died, too. They had killed her, the Simmons. Both her good friends had died and now maybe they would kill her, too. She was terrorized by the couple. They were bad, bad people.

But now Hannah couldn't think about herself. She wouldn't let Matt Simmons harm her Heath.

She was old, and weak, and her hand was wavering. But, when Matt was close, she pulled the trigger.


	16. Chapter 16

Barrett had followed Heath all the way from Stockton and had assisted to the nauseating scene of his reunion with the old black woman he called Hannah.

Hiding in the shadows among the ruins of old buildings, he had followed Heath to a poorly cared for cemetery and watched him pray on a grave. The grave of the lost woman who had been his mother.

Barrett had silently witnessed what had happened with the man called "Simmons" and the one called "Phelps". It had been real fun. Eventually, he had seen Hannah shoot Simmons. Hell, the old lady had guts!

Heath had run away who knows where, like the coward he was. Now, it was just he and the woman, and she certainly wasn't much of a threat. She was silently crying, her hands clasped in pray, kneeled by the man she had shot.

Hannah was already unconscious when she hit the ground. Barrett's gun butt had opened a wound on the back of her head. That was the day of the skull knocks. Barrett laughed coarsely. He used the tip of his boot to check on the man lying there nearby. He was dead, the woman had shot in a short distance and the bullet had gone right through his heart. The miserable man was lying in the dirt with his mouth open and a forever lasting look of incredulity in his eyes, still holding the branch he had used on the bastard held firmly in his hand.

Heath's gun lied abandoned not far from there, right on the grave. "Leah Thomson", the tombstone said. She had died at 42. Barrett picked up the gun and studied it for a while. The carving of a golden eagle, its wings proudly spread, stood out on the handle. It was a fine weapon, not one that should belong to trash like Heath so-called Barkley. Barrett stuck it in his belt. Whistling, he dragged the corpse beneath the nearby bushes. Barrett made a quick work erasing any traces on the dusty ground.

Once cheerfully completed his grim task, Barrett came back for the woman and dragged her inside the cabin.

Standing in the door jamb, he took a look around. The bastard was nowhere to be seen.

Barrett was more than sure he would come back, he was that kind of man. And, Barrett could be patient if need be. He had already demonstrated that.

The first day he had laid his eyes on the commander of the prison camp, Matt Bentell, Heath had thought he was watching his uncle. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. They could have been twins separated at birth. Since that moment, Matt Simmons and Matt Bentell, in Heath's mind, had become one.

Sitting still on the ground, Heath was in a sort of stupor. What had happened? He tried hard, but the last thing he could remember was that he was aiming at his uncle. Like a dried leaf tore off by a fierce gust of wind, he had been violently pulled away from his present reality and tossed in the darkness of a past he held hidden deep inside, trying to never let it resurface.

He was a child again, unarmed before his abusing uncle.

He was a boy again, a prisoner unarmed before his tormenter.

He felt the humiliation, the pain of the beating, the fierce burning of the whip ripping his skin open.

Heath was frightened. If he let it happen, if he succumbed to the visions of his past, he would be lost. He collected all his strength and fought, fought with all his might against his darkest memories. He had to think about the man he had become. He had to think about the ones he loved. He had to think hard, and remember what had happened in the last hours, that was all the past that mattered.

His hand went to his empty holster. Where was his gun? Jarrod had given it to him as a gift for his birthday. His brother had had it made special for him in San Francisco. The image of Jarrod's intense, deep blue eye brought a little, sad smile on his lips. Those eyes said so much about the man his brother was. A fine, smart, compassionate man. They don't come any better.

Jarrod… Nick. Mother, Audra, Gene. Nick. Oh, Nick, where are you? You must forgive me for what I've done. The pain of the separation resurfaced fiercely from deep inside. But, that was exactly what he needed now. He now knew who he was. He had left them all behind. He hadn't even given an explanation. They didn't deserve that.

He had come back here to Strawberry, to visit his mother's grave. He had come to try to unravel the key to the mystery of Aunt Rachel's death. He had come to see Hannah.

Hannah… Hannah! She was there; he had left her alone to face Simmons!

My God, was the power his uncle had over him so overwhelming? Nauseated by himself and his own weakness, Heath had to quickly turn his head and painfully threw up. He was panting, sweating. He felt like crying for the way he had let his uncle crush him like a bug under his foot. For the feeling of helplessness. For the rage that was rapidly growing inside him.

But that wasn't the time for self-pity. He had to go back immediately. Hannah needed him.

Martha Simmons was restless. From the hotel windows, she and Matt had seen Heath pass along the main street that day. She had told her husband that that was the occasion they were waiting for. It was the time that the little bastard paid them back for all they had done for him and his indecent mother.

Phelps' dead body was blindly watching her from the corner where he had fallen when she had shot him, right between the eyes. Another good-for-nothing. Even dead, he wasn't able to do anything right. He had spattered her walls with his blood and some other disgusting stuff, brain material she guessed. She had been cleaning all day, by God!

He had been there to tell her what had happened. When he had asked her for the umpteenth time to go away with him, she had got rid of him for good. What kind of life had he in mind for her? She wasn't going to exchange one failure for another. Phelps had come in handy with what had happened with Rachel, and they had spent some time together when her husband was too drunk to do what a lady needs. But, now he was becoming annoying, with his harassing requests and his fear of being found guilty for the death of that old crank. She didn't need him anymore. Not now that the bastard had come back and they'd find a way to use him and his newly found wealthy family.

According to with what Phelps had told her, Matt was holding the knife by the handle with the bastard. She just hoped he did what she had told him to do, for a change, and take his nephew to the hotel. They'd let the Barkleys know they had their precious bastard, and make them believe they'd release him for a fair price. Then, and just then, she could start thinking about a new life.

But it had been hours, the sun had set and Matt hadn't come back.

She had paced back and forth from the foyer to the kitchen several times, growing increasingly agitated, muttering to herself, shaking her head, locks of hair falling from her bun and waving wildly on her face.

Now, she had had enough. She took Matt's rifle from where she had left it, leaning against a wall, and shouldered it.

Heath stumbled in his uncle's body and almost fell. He knew immediately he was dead, his open eyes glassy and void, his lips slightly open, a rivulet of dried blood running from the corner of his mouth to his chin. He crouched anyway, and touched his throat finding no pulse. He was still warm. Heath compassionately closed his uncle's eyelids with his hand. He would never see that hateful gaze again.

Heath quickly stood: it wasn't time for speculations; he had to find Hannah and see what had happened to her. He approached the green cabin where he had spent his childhood. No audible sounds were coming from the inside. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he climbed the porch steps, walked around the cabin toward the farthest window and stood flat with his back against the wooden wall. He retrieved his knife from his inner vest pocket and flipped it open.

That was the moment he saw Martha Simmons come. He didn't move while she walked toward the front door. She was screaming, calling his name loudly, calling his uncle's name loudly.

She was furious, and she had a rifle.


	17. Chapter 17

Insanity is a stream that runs beneath the surface of normality. Most people are able to keep it beneath the surface during their whole lives. Other people can't avoid it to appear from time to time. Some other people, yet, have no other choice but to let it emerge. When it happens, it is forever, and it can happen at any time. Marta Simmons' insanity had always been very close to the surface. Today, it had definitively overflowed.

In a frantic rush, she arrived at the river exhausted, disheveled. She fell to her hands and knees on the shore, careless of the mud spattering her dress, oblivious to the gravel scratching her legs.

So many years had passed, where had they gone? She had been an attractive woman and had been waiting for her chance to escape from that cemetery. But, she had married a man with the spine of a worm. They had spent their whole lives there, waiting for the great opportunity to be seized, waiting for their moment to come. But it never came.

Maybe, the river's waters would wash away some of that rotten town's dust from her, that dust that was eating away her clothes, her skin, that once had been soft, her long hair, once shiny. Before she and Matt got married, she'd let it flow down her back, a flag of her beauty. Ah, how much she wanted to be a woman again.

But time had unmercifully passed. Year after year, it had erased her youth and beauty.

She closed her eyes, her face deformed by the excruciating pain that was crushing her heart. She forced them open and looked down at the river.

There was where Tom Barkley had nearly drowned. There was where Heath could have drowned as well. She laughed her coarse laugh. Wasn't that funny? She had hated both, still did. But neither the father nor the son had met their destiny, a destiny that now was just hers.

The black waters were running wildly, furiously, carrying away dead branches and other debris.

Black waters were running inside her as well. Wildly, furiously, her insanity carried her life away.

Barrett heard a noise from outside and went to the window. Before turning his back on them, he eyed his prisoners: the woman was still unconscious; Barkley's narrowed eyes were firmly on him, cold, unforgiving. For a short moment, as his former boss' eyes pierced his head from side to side, Barrett felt the old fear grip his heart. With a pure effort of will, he forced himself to resist, to remember who was the one with the gun. Feeling self-assured, he pulled aside the curtain and scanned the dark outside, seeing nothing but the black night.

The noise was coming closer. In a matter of mere seconds, he recognized the voice of a woman – a crazy woman – screaming at the top of her lungs. Now, he was able to distinguish the words. The woman was alternatively calling two names: "Heath", and "Matt". Once, Barrett clearly distinguished the word "Meath". It sent an icy shiver down his spine.

With the purpose of taking a better look at who was coming, Barrett quickly went to the front door the very moment Martha flung it open with a powerful kick.

Their eyes locked. There was pure insanity in those eyes. And those insane eyes were the last thing Barrett saw in his wasted life.

As Martha pulled the trigger, Barrett went flying across the room, falling on his back, stone dead.

Martha's eyes scanned the room.

Hannah opened her eyes at the wrenching sound of what she immediately realized was Martha Simmons' voice. She was screaming.

Notwithstanding the sharp headache which plagued her, Hannah's thoughts were as lucid as rarely had been in the last months.

The first time she had held Heath in her arms, when he was a newborn baby, she had immediately felt an indescribable feeling fill her heart. She recognized it as something she had felt before. It was pure, absolute love. She had had a son when she was just fourteen, but they had taken him from her after just a few months. She was a slave back then, and had no rights. But, she had never forgotten what a mother feels for her baby. Caressing Heath's soft cheek with her finger, she cried of joy. This baby was in her arms, and she loved him just like she had loved her own son. She swore she'd protect him at the cost of her life.

Now, she knew Heath was in danger

The last thing she remembered was she had shot Matt Simmons. She touched the top of her head with her fingertips and felt wet. No need to see it to know it was blood, her own blood. The room was dimly lighted but she knew she was home, the home she had once shared with her dear friend, Miss Leah, Heath's mother.

Hannah was startled when someone put a hand over her mouth. She was ready to fight and began to struggle. The handsome face of a young man came in her range of view. He had his finger on his lips, silently requesting to be quiet. A look in Nick's eyes and she decided she could trust him. She nodded and the hand dropped from her mouth. The young man helped her into a sitting position.

"Hannah, I'm Heath's brother, Nick Barkley. I want you to stay put. Barrett is a dangerous man", Nick said. Hannah nodded. This young man was Tom Barkley's son. If he was just a little like his father, and she could tell he was, she would put her life in his hands without a second thought.

Hannah took a look around and saw the man Nick had referred to as "Barrett" go toward the front door.

Then, all hell broke loose.


	18. Chapter 18

When he heard the echo of a rifle shot from inside the cabin, Heath stopped thinking. He launched himself with his shoulder against the nearest window and stumbled inside. The window glass broke and crashed noisily into a thousand pieces on the floor. Heath was back on his feet in a matter of seconds, his knife in his hand scanning the room trying to adjust his vision to the dim light. His eyes widened at the sight before his eyes.

Barrett's dead body was sprawled in a pool of blood on the floor against the wall like a broken doll.

Martha Simmons was on the floor as well, a screaming fury. Her legs were trapped in Nick's arms and she was kicking wildly struggling to free herself. Heath quickly reached his brother dropped the knife and picked up the rifle that she had evidently lost when Nick had grasped her legs, and quickly aimed at her.

"Martha!" he called her. She turned her head toward him, trying to focus his face with blank eyes. "Stop it, Martha. It's over". She stopped her frantic movements. Nick let go of her and moved aside relieved, panting. He quickly reached Hannah and draped a protective arm around her thin shoulders. She rested her head against his shoulder.

Martha's hands went to her head as she pointlessly tried to fix stray locks of hair back in her bun. She stared at her nephew.

The corners of her mouth dropped downward, her eyebrows narrowed. She inhaled deeply, before speaking. "I knew! I knew it was you! Where is Matt? What have you done to my husband? Where is Matt, I asked!" she demanded, spitting out each word with such a hatred that it was like a slap in Heath's face.

After all those years, it still hurt.

Unexpectedly, Hannah's voice reached them.

"My Heath has done nothing. Your husband is dead. I shot him. I did, may God have mercy on me. I killed that evil man".

As he tightened his embrace around the old woman's trembling shoulders, Nick raised his eyes on his brother's.

Their eyes locked for a moment, but Heath temporarily buried his questions about his brother's presence there in the back of his mind and turned his eyes back to the woman he had known all his life. Hannah had killed Matt Simmons! The little woman he had always considered helpless and fragile had saved his life!

Heath's train of thought was interrupted by Martha's voice. "Matt? Maaaatt!", she called, as she had done earlier, when she had erupted in the cabin.

Heath, Nick and Hanna watched her push herself up and adjust her long brown skirt with her hands. She walked through the still open door and went outside. "Maaaatt? Maaaaatt?" they heard her shout again and again, her voice becoming more distant as she began to run.

For the entire scene, Heath had kept his uncle's rifle on his aunt, and was now watching the empty space where she had been until moments before. At the sound of Hannah's subdued sobs, he turned his head. Hannah was now huddled in Nick's arms, as his brother was gently brushing her shoulders.

Heath dropped the rifle and quickly joined them.

Strawberry was a dusty dying town, but the little garden surrounding the green cabin where Hannah and Heath's mother once lived together was lush.

The air was warm, and it was so good to just be there together. The sweet perfume coming from the roses bushes lingering around, an occasional flying insect buzzing, the somewhat reassuring sound of Hannah's quiet humming from the kitchen, all spoke of family and home, all was a promise of contentment.

Nick would have gladly stayed that way for hours, just lazily enjoying the afternoon and the comfort of the awareness of Heath's presence. They were sitting on the porch steps, Nick just a step above. He looked down at his brother: he seemed relaxed, his injured arm resting on his thigh.

Heath was grateful Nick had come. His presence had certainly saved Hannah's life when Martha Simmons had burst into the cabin. But there was more than that. It made him feel so good to know that his brother had come for him, that he really cared. It was like sitting by the fire on a cold winter day, a warm feeling wrapping his heart and spreading through his whole body from inside. It was like when his mama embraced him as a child, making him made him feel safe, making him feel loved and wanted.

Nick had explained that he had misunderstood the meaning of the words he had overheard, and Heath believed him, but deep inside his soul he was still uncertain. He just couldn't understand why they cared so much for him. They even loved him. He, who was the living proof of Tom Barkley's infidelity. They were ready to give up their friends of a lifetime just for him, the bastard from Strawberry.

Nick had been very clear on the fact that he hadn't the right to take a decision for them, they had made their choice and were ready to face all the consequences. They wanted him to be part of their family no matter what.

What would happen if he went back to Stockton with Nick, like nothing had happened, after the way he had left? Would he still have his brothers' trust? Would his sister still unconditionally love him? And Mother… Was he ready to face Victoria Barkley's wrath? Now, that was funny. He loved her dearly but , boy howdy, that woman could be pretty scary.

Oh, For once, just once, couldn't he just do what his heart was telling him to do? Couldn't he just take what they were freely giving him and be happy? All that he wanted, all that he needed was in Stockton. He just wanted to go back there, at home, to the people he loved. But yet…

From where he was, Nick could clearly see the cuttings the broken window shards of glass had caused, all over the right side of Heath's neck. He knew there was much more under his shirt. He could see Heath thinking hard. He could easily imagine what was going through that head. Maybe he hadn't known his brother long, but Nick just plain knew him. It could read him like a book.

Oh, he knew all too well what Heath was going to say. He sighed and braced himself for the inevitable fight that would come. He was ready.

"I won't come to Stockton, Nick. I can't". Heath spoke quietly, like he was used to.

"For crying out loud, Heath, how many times do I have to explain it was just a misunderstanding?"

Heath was looking toward the horizon. "Nick, try to understand, that doesn't change a thing. If I come back home, all the misery I put you through will come back with me."

Nick didn't miss that little word, "home", accidentally slipped in the middle of Heath's little speech. He fought the urge to stand up and pace, the urge to yell at this stubborn brother of his. Instead, he clung to that word and spoke calmly.

"Do you really think we care about anything else than you, Heath? If you don't come back home with me, then our lives will be miserable. Mother is scared to death that she's going to lose you. I am scared to death, Heath. I don't want to lose you".

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a worry. I shouldn't have come in the first place. Just because I'm Tom Barkley's son, it didn't mean I had the right to ruin your lives".

Nick struggled not to lose his temper, but it wasn't easy. Certainly not for him.

"Now, this is just great. Tom Barkley has nothing to do with this. You still don't get it, do you? We don't want you because you are Father's son. We want you because we love you!"

For a long moment neither spoke. Everything seemed to stand still. Nick became aware, once again, of all the sounds in the background.

"Say Nick, that horse, Charger, he's very well trained, isn't he?", Heath said, changing the subject.

"Charger? You bet he is, why?"

"You know, I'll need a well-trained cutting horse for the cattle drive".

"The cattle drive? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm coming to the cattle drive with you. Riding Charger".

"You're coming…" As soon as he realized what Heath was really saying, Nick laughed, and Heath soon joined him. It was a balm to Nick's heart. He wasn't even sure he had ever heard him laugh before.

Nick put his hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed. "I still want to punch you, Heath", he revealed to his brother in a whisper, making him laugh yet harder.

Hannah's head peeped around the door jamb, the white bandages standing out against her dark hair and skin.

"Dinner is ready, boys", she said with her shy smile.

Nick immediately stood, all his confidence back. "Let's go, Heath, I'm starving!"

"Boy howdy, I promise you won't believe your eyes, Hannah. Big brother here eats for two", Heath said joining his brother, feeling as lighthearted as never before.

"How many times have I told you you're not funny, Heath?" Nick asked, smiling broadly, as they walked together inside the cabin.


	19. Chapter 19

There was a clearing in the woods where the white stone stood, surrounded by the equally white fence with bushes of white and pale pink wild roses climbing up on it. This was where his father had died, this was where they'd shot him. She was sitting on the grass, her back on a side of the headstone, with her arms wrapped around her curled up legs. She was wearing her black leather riding suit and looked so young. Only her white hair revealed her age.

Heath stopped his new tall horse, Charger, behind some trees where he was sure Victoria couldn't see him. He patted the horse's muscular neck and closed his eyes. His mind went back to the last moments he had spent with Hannah in Strawberry. She was on the wooden floor of his childhood cabin on her knees her hands feverishly searching for something inside a huge wooden chest.

 _"It's here... It's here somewhere, your father's letter. It's just got to be"._

 _She pulled out a wooden artifact. It was a miniature birdhouse, with a tiny bird and a little tree. He didn't remember where it came from but did remember when his mama had given it to him and the hours he had passed playing with it as a child._

 _Her faraway look fixed on the toy, she caressed it and whispered her next words, as answering to an unspoken question. "Your father... he never came looking for your mama. Rachel and her husband, they found him by the river, on the shore. He was beaten half to death and thrown in the river. But he wasn't killed. There was lots of killing in those days. She took him in her home and nursed him back to health". She pushed the tiny bird with her finger and it began to quickly sway back and forth at her touch as it was pecking, making her smile._

 _"Hannah… did my father love mama?"_

 _Hannah didn't answer just as yet. She put the toy back in the chest and pulled out a feathered hat, smiling at her finding._

 _"Everybody loved her, Heath. She was small… and so pretty. And, when she laughed… she had the nicest laugh"._

 _She put the hat on her head and turned to watch him._

 _"But most of all, my child… She was a good woman, she was a good woman"._

 _Heath nodded and gave her his lopsided smile. "I know that, Hannah. What I want to know is if he did love her"._

 _She put the hat back in the chest. "I'm sorry, Heath, but I can't tell you what you ask. I don't know did he love her or not, maybe only the two of them knew that. And Rachel, she knew, but Rachel is dead now"._

 _These last words were pronounced with such sadness that Heath's heart broke. He kneeled beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, as she found something inside a leather satchel and pulled it out. She turned her face toward Heath's._

 _"I can't read, my child, so I don't know what's in here, but maybe there's the answer to some of Mrs. Barkley's questions about your father and your mama. If the answer to her questions isn't in this letter, there isn't an answer for her, not in this world"._

 _Hannah was handing an envelope to him. He took it and stared at it. The paper had yellowed and the ink discolored, but he could still read it well. It was addressed to his mama from his father. He had never known about any letter. He put it in his shirt pocket, wondering if the answers to some of his own questions could be found there as well._

 _Hannah cupped her palm to one side of Heath's face. "You don't have to worry, my boy. You just do the right thing, be merciful, walk humbly by the side of the Lord, and bless you, Heath"._

Back in the present, Heath sighed. He clicked his tongue and came out from the wood. He saw Victoria put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun and see who was coming. Heath dismounted, then simply let the bridle hang to the ground. Charger was very well trained indeed and wouldn't move.

He approached his new mother, a short-lived half smile shot back in response to her welcoming wide one.

"I knew you'd come. Please come sit here beside me", she said patting the grass and settling her legs on the side. Since he and Nick had come home, she had known Heath had something to tell her. She had come to know this young man's many qualities and some of his weaknesses but, sometimes, he was still an enigma to her.

He sat and she put a hand on his knee. He relaxed a bit. That was the power of a mother's touch. Without looking her in the eyes, he handed the letter to her. "Hannah gave me this. For you", he said.

Victoria took the letter and quickly scanned the envelope. Tom's handwriting. It was addressed to Leah Thomson, Strawberry. She pulled out the paper and, trying to steady her shaky hands, trying to gain control over the fear wildly unfurling in her heart, slowly unfolded it. What if she discovered Tom knew about Heath? What if she discovered that he loved Leah more than he loved her?

There was just one way to know.

Heath closed his eyes and leaned his back on his father's headstone, waiting. The only thing he knew was that his mama had loved his father her whole life. Hannah used to say that she could have had any man she wanted, but she loved just Tom Barkley. He felt a light hand on his shoulder and turned to look at Victoria's eyes. He saw tears there, but she was smiling at the same time.

"He didn't know about you, Heath", she said. Heath hadn't been aware of the heavy weight that was pressing on his back until her words took it off. His father hadn't deserted him, he just didn't know.

Victoria's tears were now falling freely on her face. He studied her features. She really looked much like his mama. Leah Thomson had gone, but Victoria Barkley was there by his side and cared about him. Right there, right then, he realized how much he really loved her.

He hesitantly reached out and caressed her face. She put her own hand on the top of his. "Oh, Heath", she said fondly. "I love you, son".

He sighed. "I love you, too, mother", he replied, his shy, rare smile brightening his handsome face.

 _They had crawled out of the tunnel. Eighteen of them were already out. He was the nineteenth. But, outside, the guards were waiting for them._

 _Heath was running. He didn't feel his legs, didn't feel his feet. He didn't feel the exertion. He didn't feel anything but the need to run, the need to hide._

 _He stopped his back on a tree, sweating, breathing hard. He heard a rumble and looked up at the dark, clouded sky. The rumble blew up in a deafening thunder and the blinding flash of the lightning wounded his eyes._

 _The sky cracked open and the rain poured down on his face plastering his hair on his forehead. He closed his eyes and let it flow on him, through him, soaking his ragged clothes, his ragged soul._

 _Heath knew Matt Simmons would soon find him… he knew Matt Bentell would soon find him._

 _He saw the sneer on Bentell's face, on Simmon's face, as he tried to escape the scratching roughness of the branch against his head and shoulders, as he twisted in pain at the biting lash of the whip against his back, ripping his skin apart._

 _Heath saw the smirk on Barrett's face, as he was dragged and thrown into the water._

 _When he opened his eyes at the freezing cold enveloping his whole body, he knew why he was there, knew what had happened. He didn't want to come out anymore. He closed his eyes and thought about opening his mouth and take a deep breath, let the water fill his lungs all at once and make it happen, put an end to all this suffering._

 _But the need to breathe was too strong, he began to swim toward the surface, his lungs yearning for air. The water was red with blood. It was the blood of his comrades, gunned down by the guards._

 _He saw the woman. She was lying on the surface, her blonde hair floating around. She turned her head. In the pale face, her eyes opened and stared at him. They were empty, dead._

 _"It's all your fault, you little bastard". Martha Simmons spat each word out with such a hatred that it was like a slap in Heath's face._

 _She reached out and grabbed his shoulder with her wizened hand, her nails digging into his skin like claws._

 _Heath closed his eyes and screamed in horror._


	20. Chapter 20

When he was sure his brother was fast asleep Nick literally collapsed in the armchair he had moved near the bed. He was exhausted. It had been going on for days since they had come back from Strawberry.

But Nick's exhaustion wasn't just due to the lack of sleep. What was taking a toll on him most of all was to be the helpless witness of Heath's distress again and again.

Heath's nightmares were now his own nightmares. They were living creatures, wild beasts that revealed themselves in the shadows of the night, thirsty for blood, their sharp fangs ready to penetrate his brother's tender flesh.

And he… he was the helpless bystander. All he could do was watch the drama unfold before his eyes.

Nick combed his hair with his hand and sighed. Trying to sleep, now, was just impossible. He tiredly rose and stood by his brother's bed. Heath's face was now still, peaceful. He had already fought his demons that night, but Nick had no doubt they would come back the next night, and the night after that. Would it ever end?

Heath was clearly happy to be home. He was wholly a part of the family now. They all loved him and needed him in their lives and he knew that. But then again, Nick knew that in a corner of his heart, his brother still held a doubt, a fear that their love wouldn't last, that he didn't deserve it and that he couldn't fully trust them with all his heart. That given the occasion they would demonstrate their loyalty toward him wasn't so unwavering. It was up to them to prove differently and Nick had every intention to prove differently.

The ranch hands treated him like he deserved, as a Barkley. It was a period of hard work. The cattle roamed the open range and the cowboys would comb the land and find every single head of cattle belonging to the Barkley herd, in order to gather them before the annual cattle drive. The new calves had to be cut from the herd, caught and branded. Heath seemed to be born to it. He and his new horse, Charger, formed a formidable duo.

The thought that soon the two of them would be together as trail bosses for the first time brought a smile on Nick's lips.

Everything seemed to be just perfect.

But that was just during the daytime. At night it was another story.

The scene was always the same. After a few hours of mercifully peaceful sleep, Nick would wake up at the muffled sound of someone crying. By the time he'd reach his brother's room, Heath was already fighting, tossing and turning, drenched in sweat.

Bracing himself to what he knew was going to happen, Nick would sit on the edge of Heath's bed, pointlessly talking to him, softly calling his name, hoping his words would put an end to it. But it never happened. He knew soon the talk would come. God… It was heart-wrenching to hear his proud, brave, strong brother beg for mercy.

Heath would grow increasingly agitated, and that was the worst part. Nick had to wrestle him, restrain him, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

Finally, Heath would wake up at the sound of his own screams. He'd watch Nick with unfocused eyes, without recognizing him, his mind still full of his horrific visions. It was hurtful to watch those eyes, those expressive, intelligent blue eyes, stare blankly into nothing, emptied of all their light, of all their shrewdness.

Nick would soothe his brother, talking softly, comforting him in every way he could. Finally a broken, ashamed, mortified Heath would let him make the bed.

"Thank you, Nick", he would simply murmur. Very soon the sleep would claim him and Nick would be alone.

But it wasn't over, not for Nick. That was the time for useless questions and impossible answers.

Why? Why was this happening now?

The sad truth was that he knew the answer. Heath's demons came from his past, from his childhood, personified in his uncle and aunt. The fact he had seen them again and all that had happened in Strawberry had been the trigger to the resurgence of his nightmares. But Nick knew that that was just a small part of it all. He knew that those demons had grown and thrived during the war and especially in the months his brother had spent in Carterson. Nick knew Heath's deepest and darkest secrets. He knew all that had happened to his brother in that hell hole, at the hands of Matt Bentell and his guards.

Now, this all could have been avoided if only their father…..Why? Why hadn't their father checked on Heath's mother? Why? Why wasn't Nick there when his brother needed him? Oh, he knew all too well that it couldn't be, but it sure as hell should have been.

And again, what could Nick do NOW to help him? Was there a way that Heath could get rid of those nightmares for good? Was there a way he could live the life he deserved, and be happy?

Oh, Father, why? Oh, God, why, why, why? A sob of despair escaped Nick's lips. He clamped his hand over his mouth, but he knew it was too late. That was almost more than the tall, strong, tough son of Tom and Victoria Barkley could bear. He just couldn't cope with the injustice of what seemed to be a hopeless situation.

Overwhelmed by his emotions, Nick didn't fight the ragged tears that slowly began to roll down his haggard face, toward his trembling chin. He wasn't ashamed. He was angry, terribly sorry, and feeling hopelessly helpless.

Defeated by his tiredness, Nick fell down on his knees. His mouth close to Heath's ear, he spoke with broken voice. "I'm so sorry, brother. I'll do anything to help you, to heal you. I'll do anything, I promise". He sunk his head on his brother pillow and stayed there for a long time, pouring out all the pain he had been holding in his heart for too many days, for too many nights.

The sun was slowly rising when Nick woke up, the first rays of the new day penetrating through the window, faintly enlightening the room.

Feeling all the weight of too many sleepless nights, of too many somber thoughts, heavy on his shoulders, Nick made his way out of Heath's room, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

As soon as he entered the room, the aroma of fresh made coffee reached his nostrils. He wasn't surprised to find his mother awake. Under her scrutiny, Nick felt uneasy: he couldn't hide his red-rimmed eyes, and the dark shadows underneath.

"I just made it", she said warmly, handing a smoking cup to him.

Nick accepted it gratefully. "Thank you, Mother, that's just what I need".

"How is Heath?"

"He's sleeping, now".

For a few moments, they both sipped their coffee in silence.

"Nick, please tell me what happened".

"He had a nightmare, is all", Nick said.

"Nick, I know this has been going on since he came to us, but now it has worsened after your trip to Strawberry. He… he is my son, Nick, and I love him. He is my son, and I barely know him. I don't know anything about his past. Please, help me, Nick". Victoria's voice broke at the pronunciation of the word "son".

The vehemence in his mother's speech, the cry in her normally more than controlled tone of voice, caught Nick unguarded and moved him deeply. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

Nick put down his cup. "Those… those people, his aunt and uncle… They…" Nick shook his head as for denying his own words. "Hell, Mother, he was just a child!",

"What did they do to him? Tell me, Nick, I need to know", Victoria urged. She didn't even notice her son's swearing.

Nick began to pace, his helpfulness rapidly turning into anger. "They always treated him and his mother like the dirt under their feet. Heath grew up thinking he wasn't worth living, Mother, for that's what they always told him. His uncle… he'd beat him, humiliate him, once he even threw him into the river…"

Victoria sucked air into her lungs, her hand flaying to her throat. She'd never dare to imagine. But, at that point, Nick couldn't stop. He realized how much he had needed to share his pain, to share is fears and doubts.

"All his life, Mother, all his life people like Barrett tormented him because of his parentage. Do you understand what this means? Do you, Mother? It's Father's fault!" Nick diverted his eyes, the hurt for his remark so clear to see in his mother's face.

Victoria wanted to cry, but her eyes were dry. The hurt was deep, a knife stabbing her heart, but she suddenly realized what she was feeling was not sadness or pity for what Heath had gone through. It was disgust. Disgust for all those who had caused so much pain to her son, Heath. The son her husband had given to her, his precious gift.

But Nick hadn't said all he had to say, yet. Victoria was still mulling over her husband, when the word her son spoke reached her ears.

"Carterson".

"Carter…?" Victoria's voice cracked.


	21. Chapter 21

"Yes, Mother, Heath has been there. He was just seventeen. At seventeen years old, my brother has been a prisoner of war".

Victoria grabbed Nick's both forearms and searched his eyes. "I want to know, Nick. No matter how much it hurts. I need to know everything. Tell me what happened. Please, Nick".

Nick sighed. He wasn't ready to hear his voice tell what he'd never wanted to know, but it was too late, he couldn't escape the truth. "They attempted an escape, Heath and his fellow prisoners. Someone informed Matt Bentell, the prison camp commander. He and his men waited for them outside. He let eighteen men crawl out of the tunnel. He waited until they got into the open, then he gave the order to open fire. They were shot down in cold blood. Heath was still in the tunnel and this spared his life, but when they caught him…" Nick's voice broke. He couldn't speak anymore. He couldn't tell his mother what Heath had endured at the hands of that man.

Victoria nodded. She didn't need to hear, she knew.

Matt Bentell had always been weak with the strong and strong with the weak. In Carterson, he was as happy as a pig in mud. He had the power of life and death over his prisoners. He was usually satisfied to let his guards do the dirty work, but sometimes he liked to hold the whip hand, literally. The prisoners were like animals, they didn't deserve better. They fought over anything: over the maggoty food, over the putrid water, over scraps of clothing, over a place to sleep. They even fought over a place to die.

But then, the war was over. All everyone wanted to do was just to forget and move on. Atrocities had been committed on both sides, but they needed a scapegoat, so they took the commander of Andersonville, Captain Henry Wirz, and hung him. Bentell was tried, but all the charges against him were quickly dropped.

After the trial, he was forced to change his name: the worst thing about those war prisoners was that they never seemed to forget.

Matt Toddman was an old-fashioned gentleman, and the loyal foreman of the Barkleys' lumber camp.

That day, sitting comfortably in one of the stuffed armchair in the refined Barkleys' living room, he was calmly illustrating to Jarrod and Nick Barkley how a flume would considerably shorten the time of transportation of the logs. Sipping his whisky, he admitted that the cost would be significant, but that they would become the biggest lumber producers in California. And, with such an operation, he would be entitled to a percentage.

That was before he was introduced to the "new" Barkley brother. The moment their eyes locked, he realized who that man was. Oh, he didn't remember his name, he was just one among many, a nothing, just another of those Carterson animals. He couldn't help a little smile when he saw the astonishment and maybe… yes, the fear in the other man's eyes.

There he was, his worst nightmare, right in front of him. As soon as their eyes locked, Heath watched the old smirk he knew so well form on Bentell's face.

As the old fear filled his heart, all he wanted to do was to turn and run. But it lasted just a moment, the wink of an eye. He wouldn't, not this time. He wouldn't run anymore. He was Heath Barkley, not Bentell's victim, not a hunted animal. He was in his house, with his family, not in Carterson.

As soon as the fear left his heart, the hate immediately took its place, filling him completely. Every bit of his being was hate, pure cold sharp hate. He became one with his hate.

Heath's powerful blow hit Bentell's jaw and the man fell on his hands and knees. Heath launched himself at the man again. All he wanted to do was to put his hands around his throat and squeeze his life out.

Jarrod and Nick's reaction was almost immediate, but even the two of them put together had a hard time trying to stop Heath. Why was their brother trying to kill their lumber camp foreman?

"Heath, what's gotten into you?" Jarrod asked,

Heath struggled furiously to free himself. He had sworn, if he'd ever see Bentell again, he'd kill him and, by God, he would. "That's Matt Bentell!", he yelled.

No more words were needed. They all knew who Matt Bentell was, and what he had done. Heath's family knew what Bentell had done to him. Jarrod and Nick released him and stared at the man who, in the meanwhile, had managed to stand up again.

In the astonished silence that followed, they heard the sound of a hammer being cocked back. They turned their heads and the astonishment became incredulity: Victoria stood there, in her light blue gown, a rifle in her hands. Her eyes were cold as she was aiming, pointing directly at the man. When she spoke, her voice sounded deadly serious.

"Mr. Bentell, I'll say this just once, so listen carefully. Leave this house and never come back again. I don't want to see you here or in any of the Barkley lands or enterprises. Consider the Barkley land a "dead line", like the one you had in your prison camp: every man working for us will be ordered to shoot you on sight. Now leave, before I shoot you myself. And, believe me, I'd really love to."

Jarrod and Nick's faces were solemnly serious, both displaying an identical, very dangerous expression. Their mouths a thin line, their brows furrowed, their deadly cold eyes pierced him from side to side in a silent threat.

Bentell hesitated and opened his mouth to say something, but Jarrod's baritone voice resounded in the room. "Don't make it any worse, Bentell". "You heard her", Nick added nodding toward the door, his voice a low growl. "Get out of here, Bentell, before we forget you're an old man".

Bentell gave up any attempt or effort. He knew, this time, he was on the losing end. His face turned to stone as he straightened his jacket, took his hat from the table and left.

It was there and then. There and then, that Heath's healing really began. There and then, in his house, with his family at his side, with his family fighting for him and with him. He now knew he could trust, unconditionally trust these people. For the first time in a lifetime, he felt whole and complete.


	22. Chapter 22 (Epilogue)

The water was so clear he could see the rocks and pebbles on the bottom, among the old leaves fallen during the last storm. A reminder of the past season. The little stream would keep on flowing, night and day. It would never stop. It flowed, surrounding rocks and trunks, following its meandering path, and would become wider and wider, running toward the valley. It would turn into a river and continue to flow, passing under bridges, boarding towns, its lively voice becoming a roar.

In this point, it was bordered by trees, willows throwing shadows on the water. Through their fronds, the sun rays penetrated making the surface shine.

Sitting on a round stone, patiently smoothed by the currents during the years, Heath tested the water with his naked foot. It was freezing cold on his hot skin. There was plenty of life all around, in the blossoming spring: insects flying and buzzing, crawling and climbing on blades of grass, birds flying just above the surface, graciously landing on the edge, bobbing their heads up and down in the water. He rolled up his pants above his knees and made two little steps toward the center of the stream. Under the surface, he saw a big rainbow trout swim sinuously just beside him.

Heath made two more steps in the water, that was now up to his knees. A year had passed since he had come to his family, he had just turned twenty-five and his life had changed in so many ways.

Matt Simmons was dead. Hannah had shot him to save his life. She had finally agreed to come live with them. It was a relief for him. She was still very active and insisted on pulling her weight, but her memory problems had worsened and she couldn't be left alone. She was now part of the family and everyone loved her. She'd keep calling Mother "Miss Leah", a thing that never failed to make Heath smile.

He caressed the surface of the water with his hand and shivered. Martha Simmons had disappeared. After the night she had killed Barrett, no one had ever seen her again.

Heath hadn't had nightmares anymore, they had left the day his family had kicked Matt Bentell out of their house without ceremony. That day, his family had stood for him without reservations, without questions. He had never felt so accepted, so loved before. That had been the moment he had really become part of the family, that day he had truly become Heath Barkley, and a free man.

The Simmons, Bentell, Barrett. All those people were ghosts, shadows from a past that would never come back. The current of his life was wiping them away and soon, he was sure, their names would mean nothing to him. They were already a pale memory. He immersed his hand under the surface and distractedly looked at it, it was slightly deformed by the water.

At the ranch, he felt at ease like never before. He felt at home. He loved to work for his family, in their land, in his land. He loved to be part of them, to be part of it all and this never ceased to amaze him.

"Heath… Heath!"

He turned to see Audra and Eugene. They were waving their hands, their smiling faces so young, so carefree in that moment. The smile he displayed when he waved back at them came straight from the depth of his heart.

His hand still middle air and his smile still on his face, he saw Jarrod and Nick come. They were laughing at something, and he saw Nick pat Jarrod's back, a brotherly gesture he now was used to, and it felt so good.

The two oldest Barkley siblings joined the two youngest, and Heath realized he was right in the middle by age. He felt the love for them hit like a blow and overwhelm him completely, with such a force that he felt his knees give way for a moment.

"Hey, Heath, what are you doing there? Everyone's just waiting for you, Birthday Boy!", Nick hollered.

"Be right there!" Heath hollered back. He happily made his way back toward the shore and out of the water, to join them.


End file.
